AND 
THEIR HOMES 




Class ^^_:l 
Book 



CotpghtN". 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



Famous Actors and T'heir 
Homes 




From a Photograph iy Histed 



Famous Actors 



And Their Homes 



By 

Gustav Kobbe 

Author of *'Signora, a Child of the Opera-House 
'< Opera Singers/' etc. 



With Numerous Illustrations from Photographs 



Boston 
Little, Brown, and Company 

1905 






UiiRARY or aONSRESS 

oopv 8« 



^< 




Copyright, rgoj. 
By The Curtis Publishing Co. 

Copyright, igoj, igos. 
By Little, Brown, and Company. 

All right i '■eser'ved 



THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A. 



To EDWARD BOK 



Contents 



Page 

John Drew 1 

William Gillette 33 

Richard Mansfield , 71 

E. H. SOTHERN AND HIS WiFE, ViRGINIA HaRNED 109 

Francis Wilson 151 

"The Lambs ^' 179 

"The Players'' 203 



[v] 



Illustrations 



Richard Mansfield Frontisinece 

Page 

On the Piazza^ Easthampton 7 

John Drew in his Library 12 

John Drew and his Daughter ready for a Ride . . 19 

John Drew^ his Daughter^ and their Pets .... 22 

John Drew in his Study 25 

John Drew 29 

The Gillette Homestead^ Hartford 37 

William Gillette 41 

The ^^ Den " at the Homestead 47 

Deck View of the J z/7?/ /^o//?/ 51 

The Salon on the Aunt Polly 59 

The Engine built by Gillette when a Boy .... 6S 

William Gillette's Houseboat^ the Aunt Polly ... 68 

Richard Mansfield and his Wife and Son .... 77 

Teaching Georgie to Ride 81 

A Quiet Cup of Tea 91 

Richard Mansfield and his Wife in their New London 

Garden 97 

A Favorite Spot on a Summer Day .103 

[ix] 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

Page 

E. H. Sothern in his Library 115 

E. H. Sothern and his Fox Terrier ...... 122 

Mrs. E. H. Sothern (Virginia Harned) . , . . . 131 

Starting for a Walk 139 

E. H. Sothern and his Wife in the Main Hall of their 

Home 145 

Francis Wilson at Home 155 

Francis Wilson in his Library 159 

Francis Wilson at Home , l67 

A Quiet Game with his Daughter 173 

Harry Montague 181 

Reading Room of "The Lambs" 185 

The Dutch Grill of " The Lambs " ...... 189 

Lester Wallack 195 

"The Lambs'" Assembly Room 199 

Edwin Booth 205 

Second Floor Hall of " The Players " 209 

Joseph Jefferson 213 

Reading Room of "The Players" 217 

Grill Room of " The Players " 220 



[x] 



FA MO US ACrORS 
& rHEIR HOMES 




JOHN DREW 

ORE than any other actor on 
the American stage, John 
Drew occupies what gener- 
ally is understood under the 
term "a social position." He 
"moves in society" — whenever he has time to 
— and is welcome there. 

One of the most frequently quoted passages 
from Emerson is that in which he tells of the 
Boston woman who said that the sense of 
being well dressed gave her a feeling of deeper 
tranquillity even than religion. Somewhat sim- 
ilar is an exclamation I once heard from a New 
York woman : " What would we do without the 
Bible and the ' Social Register ' ? " The " So- 
cial Register " is a book in which is given a list 

[3] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



of New York society people. It is impossible 
to buy one's way into it. There are million- 
aires' wives who for years have been gnashing 
their teeth because they do not see their names 
in print in it. Now if John Drew had a fixed 
residence in New York, his acknowledged so- 
cial position undoubtedly would entitle him 
to a place in what aptly has been called the 
" Society Bible." 

Drew is what is known as a " society actor ; " 
and his personal knowledge of society and its 
ways has aided him greatly in acting and 
" dressing " society roles. Just as women 
look up to certain actresses as models in the 
art of costuming themselves, and copy or try 
to copy them in their own attire, so to a host 
of men Drew is a glass of fashion and a mould 
of form, — though men do not set so much 
store by these things as women. However, a 
conversation I overheard between two " swell " 
youths shows that they are not wholly indif- 

[4] 



THEIR HOMES 



ferent to matters of this kind. They were 
talking about theatricals. 

" Have you been to see John Drew ? " asked 
one of them. 

" No. Why ? " 

" He wears the longest tails to his dress coat 
that have ever been seen here." 

" Then they must be the latest * swagger ' 
thing out. I '11 go to see them to-night." 

I do not consider Mr. Drew's social position 
a matter of such importance that it need be 
cried from the housetops. But it is interest- 
ing in his case because, while most people hunt 
for it and harp on it when they 've attained to 
it, his real pride lies in his profession. Never 
has he turned his back on that or on its mem- 
bers. Never has he, for the sake of social 
connections, given up his friends in his own 
caUing. That he has been entertained by 
So-and-So in Newport or had this and that or 
the other socially well-known person at his 

[5] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



daughter's " coining out " reception, does not 
mean nearly as much to him as the fact that 
he represents the third generation of Drews on 
the stage and his daughter the fourth. For 
after Miss Louise had been presented to so- 
ciety in due form, she followed the traditions 
of the family and went on the stage, becom- 
ing a member of her father's company. Miss 
Ethel Barrymore, who also is a great social 
pet, is another representative of the latest gen- 
eration of Drews on the stage. She has Drew 
blood in her veins, her mother, the charm- 
ing comedienne, Georgie Drew Barrymore, 
having been John Drew's sister. Thus Louise 
Drew and Ethel Barrymore are first cousins. 
Another clever young actress, JVIiss Mendum, 
also is Mr. Drew's niece. 

It is his devotion to his profession which, 
together with his agreeable personality, makes 
John Drew one of its most popular members 
within its own circle. People hear a good 

[6] 



c| THEIR HOMES 



deal about the high-toned Players' Club ; but 
the real typical actors' club is The Lambs'. 
No one is better liked there than Drew. He 
has held various offices and has been the 
" Little Boy Blue " and even the " Shepherd," 
the highest officer among The Lambs. Drew 
is various in his make-up. He is a society 
man and at the same time a man of domestic 
tastes, — yet withal has a dash of Bohemianism 
in his blood that has kept him just within right 
touch of his own profession on and off the stage. 
It is pleasant to see a man unspoilt by prosper- 
ity and flattery, retaining the respect and affec- 
tion of his own. He has not only the " Drew 
blood," but also the Drew esprit de corps. 

That is one reason he was so much pleased 
when his daughter decided of her own volition 
to go on the stage. For with every prospect 
of the lively and supposedly enjoyable life 
which a properly introduced girl can lead in 
New York society, the stage was her deliber- 

[ 9 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



ate choice. " She is going to play with me 
when I go out ' on the road,' " said Mr. Drew 
to me in speaking of her. "She will be the 
fourth generation of Drews on the stage, 
which is very nice. A friend of mine, an 
architect, has a son who wants to go down 
to Pierpont Morgan's office and become rich 
soon, and my friend does n't like it. He wants 
his son to become an architect, like himself. 
But you cannot compel a man to follow a 
calling which he does not like. The stage, 
however, seems to have a certain hereditary 
fascination, — rather more so than any other 
profession, I should say." 

Although John Drew is an actor, he has 
been singularly fortunate in having been able 
to gratify his taste for domesticity because his 
long connection with the late Augustin Daly's 
company kept him much in New York and 
enabled him to have a home there. Mrs. 
Drew was a Miss Josephine Baker. One of 
[ 10] 



4 THEIR HOMES 



her grandfathers was Mayor of Philadelphia. 
Her immediate antecedents, however, were 
theatrical. Her parents were on the stage ; she 
herself was an actress, and a clever one, in roles 
like Moya in " The Shaughran," when she 
married John Drew. Her brother, Lewis 
Baker, is a member of her husband's company. 
When Miss Baker became Mrs. John Drew, 
or soon afterwards, she left the stage. For a 
considerable time while Mr. Drew was able to 
lead a " fixed life " in New York, they occu- 
pied an apartment in Fifty-fifth Street. It was 
small, but they made it very artistic, attrac- 
tive, and comfortable. Its furnishing was quiet 
and refined, — of the good old-fashioned kind. 
" Cozy," a word so often misused, applied to it 
with more than the usual degree of actuality. 

There they lived with their daughter, then a 
mere child, who went, as she still does, with 
her parents and among her intimate friends, 
by the nickname " Bee." If it is asked 

[11] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



how the name " Louise " ever was converted 
into " Bee," the answer is that '' Bee " is 

a contrac- 
tion of the 
French 
"Beb e," 




Copyright, 1902, by J. By) on 
John Drew in his Library 



our "Baby." An 
only child, no 
matter how old 
she growls, always is apt to remain the " Baby " 
of the family and of her own and the fam- 
ily friends. But that the Drews derived 

[ 12] 



^ THEIR HOMES 



their pet name for their daughter from the 
French has a certain significance, because 
French is a language almost as familiar in 
the Drew family circle as English. Mr. 
Drew is a very good French scholar. He 
not only reads French, but speaks it with 
ease. I remember one evening, during his 
engagement at Wallack's in " One Sum- 
mer's Day," hearing him carry on a conver- 
sation in that language with a member of 
a well-known New York French- American 
family who had called on him in his dressing- 
room. When during the last Coquelin-Bern- 
hardt tour in this country Mr. Drew gave a 
dinner to Coquelin the host conversed as flu- 
ently in the guest's native tongue as the guest 
himself It was JNIonsieur Drew entertaining 
Monsieur Coquelin. 

Mr. Drew acquired this accomplishment 
without a university education. He was not 
prepared for a university course. " Mother," 
[ 13 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



he said in speaking of this, " did not think a 
university course stood much for individual 
development. I do not know that it would 
have assisted me in playing ' The Second in 
Command,' for instance. Perhaps there is 
something in the feeling of being a ' university 
man.' Yet we know of many dunces who 
come out of universities. " His most advanced 
regular schooling was at the Protestant Epis- 
copal Academy in Philadelphia, and after that 
he took on some tutors and that sort of thing. 
He learned languages, got some taste of general 
literature, and even studied Socrates, but he 
went on the stage when he was nineteen. 

During the years the Drews were regularly 
settled in New York they led a very agreeable 
life there. While Mr. Drew's professional 
work prevented him from entertaining much 
at the hours customary for social entertain- 
ments, he always made a point of having sup- 
per after the play in his own home, instead of 
[ 14] 



THEIR HOMES 



at any one of the restaurants frequented by 
fashionable theatre parties, and often he brought 
home one or two intimate personal friends 
with him. They were very pleasant little 
supper parties, informal but served in perfect 
taste. 

Mr. Drew is a good talker. He has ideas 
and a clever way of expressing them. The 
meal and the " talk " afterwards generally were 
the substance and the sum of these suppers. 
Cards ? No. JNIr. Drew never learned to 
play them. Memorizing a role is easy for him. 
He is what is known in the profession as a 
"quick study." He remembers quotations 
and generally can place them ; and things he 
read many years ago, if he read them carefully, 
he still retains. In fact, he is retentive at any- 
thing but cards. Thus he knows the rules of 
whist, but cannot remember how the suits fall 
as they are played. Nevertheless these supper 
sessions were not brief For there is some 
[ 15 1 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



of the night owl in Drew ; but he knows how 
to rest too. During the daytime, for instance, 
he cares Uttle for entertaining or being enter- 
tained. Once some one said to him, " I sup- 
pose you never get to bed much before twelve 
o'clock." (This was putting it very mildly.) 
" No," answered Drew, with just a suspicion of 
sarcasm in the tone of his voice, "but on 
the other hand I don't get up much before 
half-past six." 

About the only day the Drews had for 
dining out was Sunday. On other days Mr. 
Drew's professional engagements forbade that. 
They had frequent invitations during the week 
which for this reason they were obliged to 
decline. But Sunday dinner found them 
either hosts in their apartments or guests at 
some well-known house. Possibly it is not 
amiss to state that among the well-known 
New York families with whom the Drews are 
intimate are the Hewitts and the Brockholst 
[ 16] 



THEIR HOMES 



Cuttings. They often were asked to the As- 
sembly Balls, which were among the most 
important social functions of the New York 
season, and they visit in Newport. They also 
have been made much of in England. Among 
others who entertained them there have been 
the present Dowager Duchess of Manchester 
(Consuelo Yznaga) and Lady Dorothy Nevil, 
the latter considered one of the brightest 
women in England. It may be again remarked 
in passing that JNIr. Drew, the actor who above 
all others is received socially, who thus has 
done his full share toward bringing about the 
greater social recognition of the stage and the 
higher regard for it held by the world at large 
which is one of the signs of the times, and who 
is looked upon as the American "dress suit" 
actor par excellence, because of the ease and 
distinction with which he carries himself in 
society roles, does not happen to be a society 
man who has broken in upon the stage ; but 

[ n] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



that, in him, an actor to the core, one of the 
third generation of a family of actors, and 
proud of it, has been made most welcome 
in " society." 

Mr. Drew always has been fond of exercise 
and has kept himself in the best physical trim 
for his work. He belongs to the Riding Club, 
a rather exclusive organization in New York, 
and when he lived in the city, could be seen 
almost every day on the bridle-path in Central 
Park. When his daughter was old enough 
and had learned to ride sufficiently well to 
leave the ring, she usually accompanied her 
father. Her teacher was Mrs. Beach, who has 
had most of the Newport women as pupils in 
riding. 

No parents could have been more careful 
in the bringing up of a child than have been 
the Drews with their daughter. Nothing has 
been omitted in her education. Part of the 
time her parents were living in New York 
[ 18] 




Copyright, 1902, by J. Byron 
John Drew and his Daughter ready for a Bide 



THEIR HOMES 



they had her placed at an excellent private 
school and then at a convent in Philadelphia. 
When Mr. Drew was obliged to go abroad 
with the Daly Company, she went with her 
parents and they utilized the opportunity to 
place her at a convent school in Boulogne. 
She quickly became proficient in French and 
won a prize for an article in the convent paper. 
In order to give double pleasure to her parents, 
she told them nothing about it until she sur- 
prised them with the prize itself. 

Since his appearance as a star, Mr. Drew's 
domestic life has been more or less broken 
up, although with every opportunity that has 
presented itself he has clung to it as tena- 
ciously as possible ; at the same time not 
allowing his having become somewhat of a 
rover to interfere in the least with the careful 
education of his daughter. She was sent to 
the noted " finishing school " of the Marquise 
San Carlos de Pedroso in Paris, a very high- 
[21 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



class school, to which many fine families of 
various countries send their daughters, and 
where JNliss Drew made many charming friends. 
Having perfected herself in French at the De 

Pedroso school, 
she was placed for 
nearly a year in 
Dresden, 
where she 
studied Ger- 
man and music. 
When she 
returned to 
New York in 
time for the 
season of 1899- 
1900, Mr. Drew's popularity as a star had en- 
abled him to prolong his seasons in the city ; 
and he had rented a furnished house in West 
Twenty-first Street. Here the Drews began 
entertaining again, their social circle growing 
[ 22 ] 




Copyright, 1902, by J. Byron 
John Drew, his Dmighter, and theb' Pets 



^ THEIR HOMES 



wider. One guest of their former New York 
home was, however, missed here. For Mr. 
Drew's distinguished mother, the elder JNIrs. 
John Drew, who always had been made wel- 
come at the Fifty-fifth Street apartment and 
was a not infrequent guest there, had since died. 
It was at the Twenty-first Street house Miss 
" Bee " was introduced to society at a tea 
given in her honor. Shortly afterwards she 
made a tentative appearance on the stage. 
Her father was playing Richard Carvel, and 
she took her debut as the pretty JNIaryland 
girl, Betty Taylor. It was not, however, 
until the following season that she regularly 
went on the stage, joining her father's com- 
pany when it left New York, and in the 
role of Nora Vining in " The Second in Com- 
mand." ]Mrs. Drew also travels with her 
husband and daughter, so that, although " on 
the road," the family keeps together. In fact, 
with Mr. and Mrs. Drew, Miss Drew and 
[ 23 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



Mrs. Drew's brother, there is quite a family 
party. 

For a man of fifty IVIr. Drew is very young- 
looking, not only on the stage, where disguise 
is possible, but also off it in the garish and 
tattle-tale light of day. He is quick, mobile, 
and agile, — in fact, still so very much of the 
young man that there would be no occasion 
for the professional fib about age, even if he 
cared to take refuge behind it. The public 
makes little inquiry into a stage favorite's 
age until it becomes noticeable, and, like the 
famous Roman who would rather people ex- 
pressed surprise that no statues were erected 
in his honor than because there were, it is 
better for an actor to have the public marvel 
that one of his age should look so young than 
that one so young should look so old. 

Mr. Drew is not a strong man in the pro- 
fessional sense in which the term " strong 
man " now is employed. He does not lift 

[2-t ] 



Ss THEIR HOMES 



tables with his teeth nor balance grand pianos 
on his toes. His tables are put to the usual 
domestic uses, and his piano is there for his 
daughter to play. But he is a man of fine 




Copyright, 1902, by J. Byron 
John Drew in his Study 

physique and always has kept himself in good 
condition. He tells me he does not do this 
because of the strain imposed by modern 
theatrical conditions, — the two matinees a 

[ 25] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



week and the insistence of the public of 
to-day that an actor, no matter how popular, 
always shall be at the top notch, so that he 
always must key himself to give out the best 
that is in him, — but because he is fond of 
it. On this point he said playfully, " If I had 
to exercise to keep myself in condition I 
would shirk it. But I am fond of it, and I 
keep in pretty good shape anyhow. The con- 
dition of the stage is such that the men and 
women on it must keep in good physical trim 
to stand the strain. But I do not think they 
have such a hard time of it." 

When he is in New York, besides riding in 
Central Park, he goes to the Racket Club, 
where he plays court tennis. This is a rattling 
good game and a hard game, as any one not in 
good condition who tries it soon finds out. 
But it is one of JVIr. Drew's favorite forms of 
exercise in winter, when there is not much 
doing, outdoors, and he is accounted a hard 

[26] 



(% THEIR HOMES 



man to beat. He is a capital fencer, and 
when the club had a fencing master often 
played with the foils. 

Summer is his time out-of-doors. He is in 
the open air as much as possible. His cottage, 
which is quite new, is at Easthampton, L. I., 
and in this spot where lived John Howard 
Payne, the author of the immortal lyric, 
" Home, Sweet Home," the Drews have their 
ingleneuk. Unlike Southampton, one of its 
neighbors, and • next to Newport and Bar 
Harbor, probably the best-known summer 
resort of society people in the United States, 
Easthampton is rather an unpretentious place. 
There are superb cottages at Southampton ; 
Easthampton is more quiet in character. It 
was discovered by artists, and artists still 
frequent it and love it for its quaint and 
picturesque characteristics. At the same time 
there is enough society there to keep things 
going, and a run over to Southampton for 

[27] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



a Saturday evening dance at the Meadow 
Club is quite feasible. Moreover, it has a 
charming social centre in its own pretty Maid- 
stone Club, with golf links sloping down from 
the outskirts of the village to the sea. 

In fact, when all its aspects — picturesque, 
social, and artistic — are considered, East- 
hampton is just the sort of place a man of 
Mr. Drew's quiet and refined tastes would 
select for a residence which, perforce of cir- 
cumstances, can be only a summer one. It 
is enough out of the world for him to " lay 
off" and find total relaxation in the absence 
of all formality, yet enough in the world 
for him to be of it when he wants to. 

Outdoor exercise, however, is his chief 
summer devotion and outdoor exercise of 
the more exacting kind. The beautiful golf 
links of the Maidstone Club see comparatively 
little of Mr. Drew. Some years ago he took 
a lot of lessons in golf from a professional 
[ 28 ] 



^ THEIR HOMES 



in Chicago, and was a fairly good golfer. 
But he is not much of a golfer now. His 
interest in the gaine is waning, because — 
unlike other men of fifty — he does not 




'Ml.**J^i' 



lMh^.M 



Copyright, 1902, by J. Byron 



John Drew 



consider it strenuous enough. He shows his 
physical " fitness " in his preference for tennis, 
which he plays fast and well. Tennis is his 
game afoot, but riding is his favorite exer- 
cise. Formerly he rode to hounds a good 
[ 29 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



deal, but now he feels he cannot risk a rib 
or shoulder out, as he may not always have 
the part of a wounded officer to play, as in 
"The Second in Command." Accordingly 
he has rather dropped out of fox-hunting, 
and does not ride to hounds more than per- 
haps once of a summer, if there happens to 
be a pack at Shinnecock Hills near South- 
ampton. But when he does, the old spirit 
revives in him, and he is as clean over his 
fences as any one in the field. 

All the roads around Easthampton, how- 
ever, know him well. He keeps three or four 
ponies down there, and constantly indulges his 
passion for riding, which his daughter shares 
with him ; and it is the usual thing to see 
them out together. He also is a good 
swimmer, and can plunge through the surf 
and swim out with the youngest. 

The Drew Cottage is quite unpretentious, 
a gray shingled house in Colonial style with 

[ 30] 



^ THEIR HOMES 



a large porch on one side and a commodious 
entrance hall, which also is the living room. 
" I presume yo.u have a ' den ' ? " he was asked 
by some one who could not imagine any one 
of distinction getting along without something 
going by that much misused term. " I have 
a library in my cottage," was Mr. Drew's 
simple answer. He has, however, no fixed 
line of reading. He himself calls his reading 
desultory. " That is the kind of reading for 
an actor," he says, — " desultory — getting 
hold of everything one can find." 

Mr. Drew treasures several relics which he 
keeps in his home. They include two large 
and beautiful silver cups which were presented 
to his mother and father many years ago ; a 
silver ewer and two cups given to them by 
people of Philadelphia ; and a portrait of his 
mother by Sully. He also values highly a 
silver set presented in California to Mr. and 
Mrs. Baker, his wife's father and mother. 
[31 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



A glimpse into Mr. and Mrs. Drew's refined 
home, a knowledge of their charming family 
life with their daughter, between whom and 
themselves there is the deepest devotion, goes 
far to explain why the occupation of the 
paragrapher who used to earn a living writing 
jokes about actors walking home on railroad 
ties, is gone. 



[ 32] 




WILLIAM GILLETTE 




WILLIAM GILLETTE 




ILLIAM GILLETTE, by 

reason of his distinguished an- 
cestry, the standing of his fam- 
ily, and his bringing up, was 
in a position to fit himself for 
any career. He deliberately chose the stage. 

He was born in Hartford, Connecticut, July 
24, 1855, in the old Gillette place, now occu- 
pied by his sister, Mrs. George Warner, a 
sister-in-law of the late Charles Dudley War- 
ner. There INIr. Gillette still reserves a " den." 
This he occupies on his occasional visits to 
Hartford. His " den " is his " home," so that 
he still has an abiding-place among his own 
people and in the house of his birth. 
[ 35 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



The roomy old house stands in among glori- 
ous old trees, far back from the street, and in 
the best-knoMn part of Hartford usually re- 
ferred to as " Nook Farm," after the residence 
made noted by Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe. 
Next door to the Gillette place is the Charles 
Dudley Warner residence ; near by, " Mark 
Twain's" former house ; while just over the 
way is the Isabella Beecher Hooker place. It 
was amid such surroundings " Will," as all 
his old Hartford friends call Mr. Gillette, 
spent his youth. 

His father, Francis Gillette, was a remark- 
able character, — a stern man of few words, 
who seldom said anything on any subject, but 
when he did, meant business. His boys would 
no more have ventured to argue with him, if 
he requested them to do something which they 
did not very well like, than they would have 
argued with a thunder-storm. A lifelong 
friend of William Gillette's has related to 
[06] 



(^ THEIR HOMES 



me how William once attempted to tell his 
father a lie in order to avert severe corporeal 
punishment, which he felt sure would follow 
a statement of the truth regarding a certain 
episode of his conduct, but found when his 




Ph(itO(jr,q>lu,I 1,11 11,, 



1-hntu. Co. 



The Gillette Homestead, Hartford 

father looked at him that he could not do so. 
The consequence was, that in spite of himself 
he told the truth and got the thrashing. Fran- 
cis Gillette was educated at Yale, and after- 
wards studied law, but before he practised to 
any extent was mixed up in politics and inter- 
[37] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



ested in reforms of various kinds, with the re- 
sult that he did not continue his professional 
career. He was one of the first of the anti- 
slavery men in the North and an associate of 
Wendell Phillips, William Lloyd Garrison, 
and others. His house was several times 
stoned by mobs in those exciting times, and 
he himself narrowly escaped personal attack 
there on various occasions. But it made no 
dilFerence with him or his behavior. 

He was sent to the U. S. Senate and was 
in Washington at the most disturbed period 
of the antislavery discussions. One affair 
there, growing out of the Fugitive Slave Law, 
nearly cost him his life. Three escaped ne- 
groes were being pursued through the streets 
of Washington, and were hidden in houses by 
their few sympathizers. But tlie mob and the 
officers were on their track, and it was evident 
that their pursuers soon would be able to find 
them, as several blocks of houses where tliey 
[ 38 ] 



(% THEIR HOMES 



were supposed to be concealed had been 
surrounded. 

Francis Gillette was going through the 
streets and was an indignant spectator of this 
man hunt, when he received word through a 
trusted messenger that if the mob could be 
diverted for a few moments, they would be 
able to get the negroes out of the city. He 
immediately jumped on to the porch of a 
house, and began a most violent harangue in 
favor of antislavery, rebuking in the most 
scathing terms the men who were in pursuit 
of the negroes. The result of it was that a 
crowd soon began to gather round and, as they 
became more and more excited, they got ropes 
and determined to hang him on the spot. In 
five minutes he had drawn the entire mob 
around him and they had become so violent 
that the few police who had assembled were 
unable to handle them. The mob leaders put 
a rope around the senator's neck and started 
[39] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



to drag him to a lamp-post in order to string 
him up. In the mean time the hunted negroes 
had been gotten out of the way successfully, 
and were hustled over the line out of the City 
of Washington. The only thing that saved 
Francis Gillette from an abrupt ending to his 
career was the arrival of a squad of police just 
as the order was given to string him up. 

The Gillettes have been of stern stuff even 
from before Francis Gillette's time. Two of 
them, ancestors of William Gillette in direct 
line, served in the Revolutionary War, one of 
them being killed in the battle of Trenton: 
William Gillette's own brother Robert was 
killed at the storming of Fort Fisher in the 
terrific charge over half a mile of level sand. 
Among the articles found on Robert's body 
was a shattered watch. Many years later 
William Gillette had the fragments of this 
timepiece put together ; and if you ask the 
hour, the watch he draws out is the very one 
[ 40] 




riiotographed by Frank Warner 
William Gillette 



THEIR HOMES 



his brother wore when he led his command 
across the shot and shell swept plain in front 
of Fort Fisher. Another brother died in the 
army, and when William's father drove him to 
the station on his first leaving home to try a 
theatrical career, he said, " Well, AVilliam, I 
have taken two sons to this station, and they 
never have returned ; I trust you will prove 
an exception to the rule." That was all he 
said when William left home to go to St. 
Louis, where he made his first effort to get 
on the stage. 

Yet even that much was considerable for a 
man of Francis Gillette's temperamental reserve 
to say. The son appreciated it and remembers 
it to this day whenever he wishes to give a 
characterization of his father. He had an- 
other reason to feel kindly toward him. The 
elder Gillette wished the young man to be- 
come a lawyer. Yet, as Mr. Gillette has told 
a friend, his father was the one member of the 
[ 43 J 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



family who did not raise a strong objection 
when his son decided to go on the stage. 
With his usual reserve he said nothing at all 
on the subject, but the young man felt on 
starting out that he had his father with him. 
Later, when he found himself stranded in 
New Orleans, it was his father, though he 
ill could afford it, who sent him the money 
to get back to Hartford, and when he reached 
home, while no fatted calves were slaughtered, 
his reception was all right. 

The characteristics of the father are well 
wortli bearing in mind in considering the son, 
for Francis Gillette's personality has left its 
mark upon William. Not only has the lat- 
ter shown true New England grit and tenacity 
of purpose throughout his career, but none, 
save his most intimate friends, have been able 
to penetrate the reserve which, like a veil, 
hides the real gentleness and humanity of his 
nature from a mere casual acquaintance. It 

[ 41. ] 



THEIR HOMES 



will be remembered that in his best-known 
stage creations, notably " Secret Service " and 
" Sherlock Holmes," a certain austerity of mien 
and action hides the deep love that shines 
forth in the end. 

Doubtless, some of the gentler aspects of 
his nature come to him from his mother. Her 
maiden name was Elizabeth Daggett Hooker. 
Like Francis Gillette, she w^as a descendant 
of the earliest w^iite settlers of Massachusetts. 
Thomas Hooker, who drew up the first civil 
constitution for the Commonwealth, which 
afterward was taken as a model for the Con- 
stitution of the United States, was her direct 
ancestor four or five generations back. He par- 
ticipated in the early settlement of Hartford. 

In whatever affectionate remembrance Wil- 
liam Gillette holds his father, his mother 
always came first w4th him. She was a tiny, 
delicate little creature, and he always had such 
an air of care and love and devotion toward 
[ 45 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



her that it was very beautiful to see them 
together. 

That Wilham Gillette's adoption of the 
stage was the result of natural impulse is the 
opinion of those who knew him as a boy. As 
one of the most widely known New England 
divines, Rev. Joseph H. Twichell, D.D., puts 
it, " Will Gillette was a born actor. The first 
time I ever saw him in that character was in 
a play he, with other lads, performed in his 
father's house, when he was no more than 
twelve years old, before a Ladies' Benevolent 
Society of the church of which 1 am pastor." 

Before that, when he was about eleven, he 
had astonished his family by rigging up a 
miniature theatre. It was made of a large 
box with the front cut out and the top taken 
off. In the front he built a proscenium about 
three feet high and of much the same width, 
with drop curtain, borders, etc. He had foot- 
lights, which were small candles arranged on 
[ 46 ] 



THEIR HOMES 



a frame underneath so that they could be 
operated up or down, and thus he got the 
hghting effects which he had seen in real 
theatres. The scenes slid in from the top, 




Photogi'dphed hy Warner I'hoto. Co. 
The ' ' Den " at the Homestead 

and he had a great deal of real enjoyment in 
painting these scenes himself and arranging 
everything to work properly. The various 
characters in the plays, or whatever else he 
produced, were worked in a number of ways. 
Some were suspended by very fine black 
[47] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



thread or wire, and others, when the nature 
of the scene would allow it, were worked from 
below. The first thing he gave in this theatre 
was a minstrel performance. The curtain 
rang up on what is known as the " first part ; " 
that is, the entire company seated in a semi- 
circle with various instruments. These min- 
strels in this particular scene were worked 
both ways. Some fine wires from above 
would work the arms and hands, in order to 
give them tlie appearance of playing their 
various instruments, and then he gave them 
various motions from below and behind as 
well. In this instance all the wires and 
threads above were attaclied to a single piece, 
so that he could work them in unison, as he 
did not have enough hands to work each char- 
acter and manage the other business required 
in the scene. 

He imitated various instruments with his 
mouth, and also worked bells and imitations 
[ 48] 



S^ THEIR HOMES 



of tambourines with his feet. After the open- 
ing overture each one in the semicircle v\ ouid 
stand up in turn and sing a song or do some- 
thing else appropriate to the occasion. Also 
between these musical selections the end men 
would carry on a supposedly funny dialogue 
with each other and the interlocutor. This 
dialogue was the part which the boy Gillette 
liked most. After this part of the show was 
over, sketches were introduced in which char- 
acters went on and off and various catastrophes 
happened. The next performance in this min- 
iature theatre was a real theatrical performance 
with plays which Gillette himself wrote for the 
occasion and which were received with consid- 
erable applause. Two or three years later the 
boy organized a juvenile company among his 
friends, built a stage in the large attic of the 
Gillette house and gave performances there. 

Though these youthful efforts on the stage 
and at playwrighting may not be classed as 
[ 49 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



more than boyish diversions and attempts, 
their bearing upon the career of the future 
actor and dramatic author must be considered 
as highly important. During the younger 
years mind and feehngs are iTiore plastic than 
during later periods of life, and in a crude way 
William Gillette was as a "kid" gaining a 
technical facility in expression and writing 
which must not be undervalued. A young 
fellow who exercises any talent of this kind 
at all goes at the thing in a very straight and 
direct way, — by the shortest cut, — and this 
may be the reason a Gillette play has about 
the least possible amount of dialogue, the 
author realizing that " situation " counts for 
more than the spoken word. 

Young Gillette did not go directly on the 
stage after his school years. He first tried the 
entertainment platform. He gave public read- 
ings and recitations, including costume imita- 
tions of various actors, among them Booth, the 
[50] 



THEIR HOMES 



elder Sothern, John T. Raymond, and Jeffer- 
son. From his father, who in the Senate had 
heard Webster's reply to Hayne, and who 
was highly adept in reproducing the voice, 




Photographed by the Warner Photo. Co. 
Deck View of the " Aunt Polly " 

gesture, and mannerism of any one by whom 
he had been impressed, William had picked 
up some capital imitations of some of the 
great statesmen of the day, and these he also 
introduced in his programs. 
[ 51 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



After several seasons on the platform, Gil- 
lette finally determined to get away somewhere 
and go on the stage. He had money enough 
to take him to St. Louis, where he tackled 
Ben de Bar, who was the manager of a theatre 
there and of anotlier in New Orleans. De 
Bar would not have anything to do with him 
at first ; but Gillette was desperate, and, when 
the manager turned away, hung on to ]iim and 
actually turned him around again, expostulat- 
ing that he simply must be allowed to join the 
company, and that he did not want any salary 
wliatever. This was a " whopper," but it did 
the business, for the pecuniary part of it in- 
terested the manager. As a result, Gillette 
was engaged for small parts at the old St. 
Charles Theatre, New Orleans, and it was 
there he made his actual stage debut. 

Next season, through the influence of JMark 
Twain, he secured a minor position in John T. 
Raymond's company for the New York sea- 
[52] 



(^ TtlEIR HOMES 



son, and, during that time, he attended lec- 
tures at the New York University. In 1874, 
as a member of the Globe Theatre Company, 
Boston, the illness of Harry Murdoch se- 
cured him a chance to play Prince Florian in 
" Broken Hearts." An eye-witness, and a crit- 
ical one, of that performance, tells me that 
while it was awkward, it was curiously inter- 
esting. At all events, it made an impression 
and gave Gillette some standing. Wlien the 
play was put on again, later in the season, he 
was allowed to retain tlie role, although IMur- 
doch was perfectly well. The management 
explained that it was traditional, when an 
understudy went on and played a part, to 
let him have it at a later production. This 
was one of the few stage traditions that ap- 
pealed to Gillette at that time as the proper 
thing. During this engagement, the daytime 
saw him at Boston University and the Insti- 
tute of Technology. 

[53 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



For two seasons thereafter, he acted with 
the Macaulay Stock Company in Cincinnati, 
occasionally going over to Louisville for a 
week. Near the end of the second season, 
Kate Claxton came to Cincinnati with " The 
Two Orphans." He played the comedy part 
so acceptably that she offered him an engage- 
ment for a travelling season, and " as Macaulay 
was not paying salaries at that time," Gillette 
accepted. 

It was during his connection with the Ma- 
caulay company he wrote his first play for the 
professional stage, " The Professor." He was 
several years getting it produced, until JNIark 
Tw^ain, for old acquaintance' sake, again came 
to his aid. I was present at the first perform- 
ance of '' The Professor," which also had the 
added importance of presenting Gillette for 
the first time in a leading role in a metro- 
politan theatre. 

It was at the Madison Square in 1881. 
[54] 



^ THEIR HOMES 



Gillette was capital in his droll personation of 
the whimsical, near-sighted professor who, after 
all, wins the love of the heroine, charmingly 
played by poor Georgia Cayvan. It was not 
long before Gillette was heard of again. For 
at the same house 1 attended, in the following 
October, " Esmeralda," the joint work of Mrs. 
Frances Hodgson Burnett and himself. 

Here I simply would give a list of My. Gil- 
lette's principal plays, were it not for an inci- 
dent showing how the canny New Englander 
now and then crops out in him. Under 
the title of " Digby's Secretary," he made an 
adaptation of Von Moser's " Bibliothekar. " 
Charles Hawtrey, the English actor, made 
another version, " The Private Secretary," to 
which A. M. Palmer secured the American 
rights. 

In 1884 both versions had their first per- 
formance on the same night in New York, 
Mr. Palmer's at the Madison Square, Mr. 
[55] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



Gillette, with himself in the leading role, at 
the Comedy. Mr. Gillette rang up his cur- 
tain at 8 P.M.; Mr. Palmer at 8.15 p.m., — 
Mr. Gillette, it will be observed, a quarter of 
an hour earlier than JMr. Palmer. Both ver- 
sions were successful. One afternoon, a year 
and a half later, ]VIr. Gillette walked into Mr. 
Palmer's office and announced that Mr. Palmer 
owed him a year and a half royalties on " The 
Private Secretary." The ground ? Gillette's 
priority of production, — that ringing up of the 
curtain a quarter of an hour earlier. You may 
be sure an astute manager like IMr. Palmer 
would not have yielded an inch had Gillette 
simply been "putting up a bluff." But the 
final result was that a new version was made 
of the best portions of both plays, and, with 
William Gillette in tlie leading role, " The 
Private Secretary " successfully toured the 
country. 

Among Gillette's best -known plays are 
[56 ] 



(§ THEIR HOMES 



" Held by the Enemy," " Too Much Johnson," 
" Secret Service," and " Sherlock Holmes." 
" Too Much Johnson " was a failure at first. 
It was winding up its brief career with a last 
two weeks in Brooklyn, when the failure of a 
production at a New York theatre called for 
a stop gap there. " Too Much Johnson " was 
brought across the river, ran the whole sea- 
son, and went on the road a prosperous enter- 
prise. The romantic story is told that while 
battling with illness in a cabin in the North 
Carolina woods one winter, Gillette wrote the 
play which made him famous, " Secret Ser= 
vice." But if any one had chanced to look 
into the library of the Players' Club, New York, 
one summer, he would have seen, almost any 
time, William Gillette seated at a desk writing ; 
and it was then and there the greater part of 
" Secret Service " was written. 

A friend of Gillette's, C. W. Burpee, of Hart- 
ford, has kindly gone to considerable trouble 
[57] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



to give me some glimpses of the pleasure his 
occasional homecomings give to his relations 
and friends there. It is true he does not often 
find opportunity to revisit the home of his 
boyhood ; but that he still has a warm spot in 
his heart for a home, is shown by the way he 
arranges his rooms in hotels, and even his dress- 
ing-rooms at the theatres. He always carries 
with him reminders of his home friends and 
his home life, and his valet quickly learns that 
good places for these reminders, whatever his 
quarters, are deemed by Mr. Gillette as of 
as much importance as good places for his 
utilitarian belongings. 

Then, between the acts, or while others of 
the company are hurrying away for a little 
recreation, he will sit down among these re- 
minders and write one of his inimitable letters 
to the " folks at home," to whom they come 
like rays of sunshine. If he has time for but 
a word, he will enclose some clever or amusing 
[58] 



THEIR HOMES 



newspaper clipping, occasionally with humor- 
ous side notes. 

His sister and her family at the old home- 
stead in Hartford are ever in his mind. There 
are daily tokens of this. When he is across 




Photographed by Warner Photo. Co. 
The Salon on the " Aunt Polhr 

the water, these tokens often take the shape 
of long cablegrams. Incidentally, Gillette 
never did seem to liave any appreciation of 
the cost of telegraphing ; oftentimes he will 
wire a fairly long letter wlien a few words or 
[59 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



the post might have sufficed. He does every- 
thing on a generous scale. 

Then what joy there is at the beautiful old 
homestead when he returns ! He walks in, 
the same Will Gillette he is on the stage, dis- 
sipating all humors of mind and body, and 
carrying every soul along with him for a round 
of pleasure and happiness while he is in the 
house. During these brief vacations he likes 
best to give himself up entirely to the family. 
He sees so much of the world the rest of the 
twelve months that he counts these few hours 
precious in the society of those dearest to him. 
If at times he has to resort to cunning to de- 
fend the hours from the hosts of friends and 
admirers and stage aspirants who try to seek 
him out in his home, he is to be commended 
for it. He loves company and always is genial ; 
but there are moments which he feels he has a 
right to dispose of as he will. 

Gillette does n't throw away restraint when 
[60] 



4 THEIR HOMES 



he enters his home ; for he never appears to 
have any, in the cold sense. He is free and 
hght-hearted as a schoolboy, full of quips and 
pranks and funny anecdotes. Withal he is 
courtly, in the good old meaning of the days 
of chivalry. The tender side of his nature has 
full sway. He adores his sister as a young 
man adores his sweetheart, and to her children 
he ever has stood as the fairy-tale prince, only 
real. He 's all realism. Realism with him is 
nature, and what glimpses of this nature one 
obtains before the footlights are genuine, as is 
apparent where he gives himself up absolutely 
to his nature, in his own home. Withal, how- 
ever, there 's one thing he can't be induced to 
do, and that is to talk about himself or his 
affairs. He is as close-shelled as an oyster, — 
a mighty good-natured oyster. No, what he 
wants when he gets home is to learn what the 
others have been doing, and how they have 
been faring, and he is so busy asking ques- 
[61 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



tions about that, that there's no time for 
him to talk about his own experiences, save, 
of course, an occasional droll incident, told 
merely to keep up the general merriment. Let 
a home friend come to the table preoccupied, 
his mind full of the cares of life, and put out 
by petty annoyances, and the moment Gillette 
appears it 's all laughter and sunshine. He is 
a tonic. If he had nothing else to win the 
love of people, that alone would be enough. 
He can't sit still long at a time, even when 
he is at work. If he goes up to his den on 
the top floor for a few hours' writing, he soon 
can be heard moving about and singing, and 
the family know that he is looking over some 
of the idols of his boyhood. His den is full 
of specimens of liis skill with carpenter's tools, 
from the table and its quaint chair to the noA^el 
window-seats. And on a stand near by is a 
complete engine he made when a boy, along 
with knick-knacks of all sorts. His brain is 
[62] 




1^ 



Cb 



c^ THEIR HOMES 



ever active. While he is writing a play, he prob- 
ably is designing a boat at the same time ; or, 
if he is wandering carelessly around the grounds, 
under the old trees he loves so tenderly, that 
whistling is not idle, it probably is some air 
that he is composing. 

He is simple in his habits. His food is of 
the plainest. Nevertheless, he is particular 
about it. He prefers bread to the choicest 
meats ; but it must be a particular kind of 
bread, — that is, particularly plain and whole- 
some. There is no use in killing any fatted 
calf when he comes home ; he would rather 
have crackers and cheese, if the right kind 
of crackers and the right kind of cheese. 
But his preferences are learned only by ob- 
servation ; he never is heard to express them, 
and he will appear as happy over a splendid 
dinner that he will hardly touch, as over a 
saucer of shredded wheat. In his dress there is 
the same simplicity, but always with good taste. 
[65] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



By his spirits you would think that he en- 
joyed the best of health, yet, since his severe 
illness a few years ago, he has been heir to 
many of the ills of the flesh. Your only path 
to that conclusion, however, is through his diet 
and his general habits, for outwardly he is all 
good feeling. He comes home to rest ; the 
family know that, as a matter of course, but 
never from anything he may say. If any one 
remarks he looks tired, or must be worn out, 
he laughs at them. 

He is quick at repartee, and appreciates a 
jest. Sometimes he may be teasing toward 
his intimates, but it's teasing of a kind that 
causes a bubbling laughter. There are no 
barbs on his arrows. And when all is said, 
the most impressive thing about his home 
life, the one phase of his character which 
you Avill observe when he least thinks that 
he is being studied, is his thoughtfulness 
for others, especially the aged and all those 

[66 ] 



^ THEIR HOMES 



of whom the rest of the world is hkely to be 
forgetful. 

Mr. Gillette is a widower. He was devoted 
to his wife, and is devoted to her memory. 
The illness which took him to Try on, N. C, 
is believed to have been largely due to his 
grief over her loss. He buried himself in the 
pine woods, and all the natives saw of him was 
the figure of a gaunt, silent man passing along 
the road from his cabin to the village and 
back. One day, however, he fell in a faint 
by the roadside and was taken into one of the 
cabins. This incident broke the ice between 
him and the natives, with many of whom he 
soon became good friends. His houseboat, 
the " Aunt Polly," is named after one of the 
*' characters " at Try on. 

This houseboat is a great source of recrea- 
tion to the actor whenever he spends a sum- 
mer in this country. He had another before 
this. She steered badly, and nearly falling 
[67] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



foul of some canal boats in the Hudson, one 
of the canallers yelled out that the craft was 
a " holy terror." Mr. Gillette promptly named 
her the " Holy Terror." She was a queer-look- 



i 



jnfm 




William Gillette's Houseboat, the " Aunt Polly ''^ 

ing affair. On one occasion when approach- 
ing a drawbridge in the Connecticut River, the 
keeper of the bridge hailed her. 
" Where from ? " 

[68] 



c§ THEIR HOMES 



"New York." 

"When?" 

"July fourth." 

" What century ? " 

The " Aunt Polly," however, is a staunch, sea- 
going hull, with powerful engines and capable 
of high speed. She is a houseboat only in the 
sense that slender lines have been sacrificed to 
roomy, sensible, comfortable cabin accommoda- 
tions. Only a few very intimate friends ac- 
company JNIr. Gillette on his cruises. Once 
he put in at Provincetown, Mass., and went 
ashore. He met two boys who were going 
fishing. He began talking with them. In- 
stead of continuing on their way to the shore, 
they followed him about. Other boys joined 
them, and after a while a troop of youngsters 
were in his wake. 

" I thought you were going fishing," said 
one of Gillette's friends to one of the first two 
boys. 

[69] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



" He 's better than any fishing," they an- 
swered, pointing to the actor. Then the 
friend told them who Gillette was. "We 
don't care who he is," they exclaimed. "All 
we know is, that he 's just the thing." 

Many people consider Gillette a cynic ; but 
his relations and his intimate friends know him 
in a wholly different light. To them he is one 
of the most lovable of men. 



[ 70 ] 




RICHARD MANSFIELD 




RICHARD MANSFIELD 




I AN you imagine Richard III. 
or Henry V. quailing before 
the " hist ! " of a baby's nurse ? 
Yet I have seen the Duke of 
Gloster as frightened at that 
warning as when he staggered across Bos- 
worth Field shrieking, " A horse ! a horse ! 
My kingdom for a horse ! " and bluff Harry as 
disconcerted as if at Agincourt the French- 
men had been at his heels instead of he at 
theirs. 

True, it was neither the real Richard nor 
the real Henry, but the greatest living im- 
personator of both, Richard Mansfield ; and 
the scene was neither Bosworth nor Agincourt, 
[73] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



but the hall of the Mansfield residence on 
Riverside Drive, New York. The actor had 
seen nurse enter with baby in her arms, and 
had rushed forward with a paternal " Ah ! 
Was it my dear little — " Then the indignant 
"hist" from nurse and the utter rout of the 
impersonator of a long line of heroes. For 
the nonce nurse ruled supreme, or was it 
King Baby, even though asleep and gently 
breathing beneath his veil of fine white 
tulle ? 

George Gibbs Mansfield, with his round 
baby face and dimpled hands, is a mighty 
personage in the Mansfield household. At 
the age of three, he already has mastered 
one role, that of miniature tyrant ; and the 
person he most lords it over is " Papa." For 
instance, " Papa " is at his table in his study 
deeply immersed in the manuscript of " Beau- 
caire. " One of the pages he has read becomes 
loose and flutters to the floor. He is only 

[74 ] 



S^ THEIR HOMES 



half conscious of its flight, and he is too 
absorbed in the new play to put down the 
manuscript, lean over, and pick up the stray 
leaf He goes on reading. 

Suddenly there is a crisp, crinkly sound 
on the floor. The actor pauses a moment 
and looks down. There is a figure on its 
hands and knees, and one of the hands is 
just closing on the edge of the leaf. 

"No! No! Georgie!" 

The little hand draws back. In a moment 
" Papa " once more is absorbed in the manu- 
script. That crisp, crinkly sound again. 

Papa more severely : " N^o / jVo / Georgie ! " 

Again the manuscript ; again the sound. 
Papa, trying to be very angry, a role he can 
act perfectly on the stage, but at which he 
is an utter failure between the four walls of 
his own home : " Georgie, did n't I tell you 
not to touch that ? What do you mean by 
being so naughty ? " 

[75 J 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



A little face looking up, two lips parted 
in a roguish smile, and issuing from between 
those lips, two words : " Teasing Papa ! " 

Good-bye, " Beaucaire " ! Who cares what 
becomes of you ? A small fortune already 
is invested in scenery and "properties," but 
what of that ? He who is to handle your 
sword and sport your cockade, is scampering 
about the room on hands and knees playing 
" bow-wow " with a baby boy ! 

Richard III., Henry V., and Cyrano have 
done other curious things at the behest of 
Georgie. History does not record that either 
the villain of the hump, the hero of Har- 
fleur, or the long-nosed Gascony poet and 
campaigner was of a mechanical turn of mind. 
Yet their impersonator, having removed the 
hump, put the crown on a shelf, and the nose 
in storage, has been known to repair suc- 
cessfully a broken-down " choo-choo " train — 
of course for Georgie. Here is a scene as 
[76] 




'^ 

g 
« 

s 



THEIR HOMES 



enacted on Riverside Drive in front of the 
Mansfield house. 

The park of which the drive is a feature 
falls rather abruptly to the Hudson, which is 
skirted by a railroad. The actor and his boy 
are strolling along the walk at the edge of the 
high bank, the actor accommodating his usually 
brisk gait to the little fellow's short steps. A 
train puffs by below. An idea suddenly oc- 
curs to Georgie. He withdraws his chubby 
hand from his father's hold, places his elbows 
to his sides and toddles ahead, working his 
little arms like piston rods and ejaculating, 
" Choo-choo ! choo-choo ! " 

He comes to a sudden stop. His father 
catches up with him, expecting to take his 
hand and stroll along again. But no such 
thing for the little fellow. " Train broken," 
he says. 

The actor takes a few steps, holding a hand 
back of him, waiting for a little hand to be 
[79] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



placed in it. But a voice repeats more em- 
phatically, " Train broken I " and then adds 
imperiously, " Papa mend it ! " Here is a 
nice situation, but the actor's stage-training 
comes to his rescue. With a perfectly sober 
face he walks back to where Georgie stands 
immovable, takes his cane as if it were a 
screw-driver, makes a few passes in which he 
goes through the movements of tightening 
up a few screws and adjusting a bolt or two. 
"Now, Georgie," he says, "train's mended," 
and off starts Georgie, " Choo-choo, choo- 
choo ! " 

The boy's mind seems to run to railroads. 
" Papa," he said recently, " you 're a steam 
engine." 

" But my son — " the actor began protesting. 

" Hush, papa ! Steam engines don't talk." 

What I want to call attention to is the fact 
that in both little scenes the child displayed as 
pretty an imagination as the actor. He knew 
[80] 



^ THEIR HOMES 



perfectly well that he was not a broken-down 
train, and that the repairs made by his father 
were " make believe ; " also that his father was 




Copyright, 1902, by J. Byron 
Teaching Georgie to ride 

not a steam engine. But having " created " a 
" situation," he acted it out to the last detail. 
Evidently he has inherited some of the actor's 
imagination. I am told that if at table he asks 
[81 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



for an apple, out of the order of the menu, it 
is only necessary to make believe take an apple 
from the dish and go through the motion of 
handing it to him, to have him perfectly satis- 
fied. If the wants of the average child could 
be so easily supplied, what a simple and inex- 
pensive matter a family menage would be. 
But George Gibbs Mansfield is not even the 
exception that proves the rule. He has a 
good healthy appetite, and soon would be 
heard from if an attempt were made to sat- 
isfy it too often with edibles of the " make- 
believe " variety. 

The Mansfield baby is named after Georgia 
Gibbs, a daughter of the late Edwin S. Gibbs, 
who was prominently connected with a large 
New York life insurance company. Mrs. 
Mansfield is an intimate friend of the family, 
and around the Gibbs country seat at Rye, 
N. Y., cluster some of the most romantic 
memories of the actor's life. For Beatrice 
[ 82 ] 



THEIR HOMES 



Cameron was visiting here during the sum- 
mer Mr. Mansfield was courting her. The 
actor hved at Portchester, and together they 
took long drives through the country with its 
picturesque vistas of Long Island Sound and 
woodland roads — regular " lovers' lanes " — in 
the interior. 

Miss Cameron was Mr. Mansfield's leading 
woman for several seasons before he inarried 
her. They first met when she joined his com- 
pany and was cast for Florence in " Prince 
Karl," making a decided hit in the role. 
" Mansfield is delighted with his new lead- 
ing woman. He thinks she has a great 
future," is a sentence from a personal letter 
written about this time by one of the actor's 
friends. Mr. Mansfield's high opinion of his 
wife's ability as an actress has never changed. 
He still thinks she plays Florence, Raina in 
" Arms and the Man," Lady Anne in " Richard 
III.;' Mrs. Anderson in " The Devil's Disciple," 
[83] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



and Norah in Ibsen's " Doll's House," better 
than any one else. 

After Georgie's birth Mrs. Mansfield retired 
from the stage. During the second " Cyrano " 
season many of her friends urged her to reap- 
pear, but her reply was, " No, my place is in 
our home with our child. " Finally, however, 
even Mr. Mansfield joined in the solicitations, 
and she yielded so far as to consent to make a 
single appearance. As a tribute to her, her 
husband broke the run of " Cyrano " for a 
night, which, with the heavy scenery to be 
gotten out of the way and the disarrangement 
of the cast, means more than the uninitiated 
might suppose, and revived " Arms and the 
Man " for one performance at the Herald 
Square Theatre, Mrs. Mansfield playing Raina, 
one of her most notable roles. The house was 
packed, and she received an ovation — and no 
one was more tickled with her success than her 
husband. 

[8i] 



THEIR HOMES 



But although Mrs. Mansfield has not been 
seen on the stage since that one performance 
of George Bernard Shaw's play, she is sure to 
be present at the " first night " of a new pro- 
duction by her husband in New York. The 
play over, a scene not on the program is en- 
acted. Usually some of the Mansfields' inti- 
mate friends are in the audience, and these are 
invited to wait after the performance and go 
back behind the scenes with Mrs. Mansfield. 
Suppose it is the first night of "Beaucaire." 
It is after the final curtain. The star has 
made his little speech of thanks, and the audi- 
ence is filing out — all save a favored few. 
The actor retires to his dressing-room ; the 
stage is " struck." The Louis XV. carpet used 
in a scene of the play is spread over the floor, 
and big candelabra are placed about. Some 
fifteen or twenty friends are conducted be- 
hind the scenes by Mrs. Mansfield, and soon 
Mr. Mansfield appears. He has put on his 
[ 85 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



glasses, but is minus his peruke, though he 
still wears his Duke of Orleans costume. Mr. 
and Mrs. Mansfield then hold a reception on 
the stage, and it is some time before the lights 
are lowered and the actor and his wife are 
driven to their home on Riverside. 

Some idea of Mr. Mansfield's devotion to 
" Beatrice " and " Georgie " can be gathered 
from his maintaining this handsome house. 
As he rarely passes more than eight or nine 
weeks of the year there, he keeps it up prac- 
tically for his wife and child, — so that they 
may enjoy its comforts while he is away on 
his professional tours. The Mansfield resi- 
dence is a fine white stone structure about 
halfway between the beginning of the famous 
Drive at West Seventy-second Street and 
Grant's Tomb on the north. From the win- 
dows of his study the actor, when at home (by 
no means a superfluous limitation, since his 
profession takes him so much away from New 
[86] 



THEIR HOMES 



York), commands a superb view of the Hud- 
son. Though a city house, and not even very 
far uptown, as New York now goes, the out- 
look is as extensive and beautiful as that from 
many of the country seats further up the river. 
Only a few hundred yards away is the boat- 
house of Columbia University, and the pass- 
ing craft range from the long tapering racing 
shells of the Columbia crews to the large river 
steamboats. 

A large hall and reception-rooms are on the 
ground-floor. As in the typical modern New 
York dwelling, the stairs do not begin im- 
mediately opposite the front door. Such an 
arrangement would be considered a relic of the 
hideous " high-stoop, brown-stone " era. Con- 
sequently the hall has a spacious aspect which 
suggests the country home rather than the 
city house. The drawing-room, dining-room, 
and music-room are on the second floor. 
Mrs. Mansfield has her suite, including her 
[87 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



boudoir in white, ecru, and gold, Louis XIV. 
style, on the third floor. The library and 
study are on the fourth, and above this is 
Georgie's realm, the nursery. 

The manuscript of the play under consid- 
eration or in rehearsal, books on its historical 
period, costume plates, pads scribbled over 
with notes and memoranda, personal letters 
and numerous requests for autographs, give 
Mr. Mansfield's desk an appearance of pic- 
turesque confusion. The disarrangement is 
real, not posed for effect. 

Before he went on the stage Mr. Mansfield 
was a painter. A friend, hearing of this only 
recently, said to him, " I understand you once 
made your living by your painting." 

" No," was the actor's quick reply, " in spite 
of it." 

Nevertheless, among the pictures in the 
house are several from his brush, allowed to 
hang on the walls, however, only through the 

[88] 



^ THEIR HOMES 



pleading of Mrs. Mansfield. Among them is 
a little Lakewood view to which she attaches 
special value. While the Mansfields were 
stopping at this New Jersey winter resort, a 
water-color in one of the store windows, re- 
producing a view which could be seen from 
their windows, caught her fancy. She asked 
Mr. Mansfield to buy it, but he demurred on 
some ground. In the afternoon she went out 
for a ride on horseback. Mr. Mansfield usually 
accompanied her, but that afternoon he made 
the necessity of looking over the manuscript 
of a new play an excuse. When his wife re- 
turned fi:-om her ride the aquarelle she had 
liked so much hung in her room. JNlr. Mans- 
field listened to her expressions of delight with 
an amused air. 

" And what about the manuscript ? " she 
asked. 

" There is no manuscript." 

" Oh, Richard, why did n't you go out riding 
[89] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



with me ? What have you been doing all 
this time ? " 

" Painting that httle scene for you, dear." 
During his season Mr. Mansfield finds httle 
opportunity for diversion. An actor's hours 
are late. Even after a play has been running 
some time, a scene occasionally is apt to sag. 
The best corrective is to rehearse it immedi- 
ately after the performance. An exacting star 
like Mr. Mansfield — as exacting, however, 
with himself as with his company — rarely 
closes the stage door behind him until after 
midnight. After the work of the evening 
(for while the audience is enjoying itself, those 
on the stage are hard at work), supper and 
some relaxation are necessary before retiring. 
Two o'clock in the morning, therefore, is not 
an unusual hour for Mr. Mansfield to "turn 
in." This will explain why he does not break- 
fast until about noon. He is fond of horse- 
back riding for exercise, and a canter on one of 

[90] 



THEIR HOMES 



his favorite saddle-horses, Liberty or King 
Cole, follows soon after breakfast. On his 
return he goes to work in his study until four 




Copyright, 1902, by J. Byron 
A Quiet Cup of Tea 

o'clock, when he dines. The interval be- 
tween dinner and the time for leaving for the 
theatre he divides between rest and mental 
concentration upon his role. During this 
[91 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



period of his day any interruption positively is 
prohibited. The pubHc Kttle appreciates the 
exactions of the stage. It thinks the actor 
simply walks on when the curtain rises and 
off when it falls. Does it realize, for instance, 
that on matinee days the actor hardly has 
washed off his " make up " from the afternoon's 
performance, before he has to put it on again 
for the evening? When Mr. Mansfield was 
acting Cyrano at the Garden Theatre, New 
York, the interval between matinees and even- 
ings was so brief that he was obliged to take a 
room at the Holland House near by for a slight 
rest and a hasty bite between performances. 

Mr. Mansfield usually is at the stage door 
before any member of his company. He is 
thus early not only to set an example, but also 
because he is very careful in " making up " his 
role. Having been a painter before he became 
an actor, he looks upon this part of his work 
with the artist's eyes. I once watched him 

[ 92 J 



^ THEIR HOMES 



" making up " for Dick Dudgeon in " The 
Devil's Disciple." He was doing all the work 
himself, his dresser simply holding a handglass 
in varying positions so that, reflected in the 
mirror before him, he could see his face and 
head from all points of view. " There," he 
said, pointing to the " make-up " box, " is my 
palette ; here," with a flourish of the haresfoot, 
" is my brush ; and here," pointing to his face, 
" my canvas." It was the artist, not the actor, 
speaking. 

" Time is too valuable to be wasted," is Mr. 
Mansfield's motto in the management of his 
company. Work has taken the place of the 
old-time Bohemianism of the stage. Young 
people who think stage life is one grand frolic 
should remember that the theatre, like every 
other institution which has prospered, has felt 
the influence of modern business methods. In 
the Richard Mansfield Company everything 
has been reduced to a system. One of the 
[93] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



star's favorite anecdotes relates to how he him- 
self was made cognizant of its thoroughness. 

"Every member of my company," he says, 
in telling it, " has an identification card which 
must be presented at the stage door. One 
night we were playing in a new theatre in the 
West. As I was passing in the doorkeeper 
stopped me. 

" ' Card, please.' 

"'But—' I began. 

" ' You 've got to show a card to get in.' 

" ' I haven't a card.' 

" ' Have n't a card ? Do you belong to this 
show ? ' 

"'No.' 

" ' Then what are you doin' here ? ' 

" ' This show belongs to me.' 

" Then the doorkeeper looked up, recognized 
me, and probably would still be apologizing if 
I had n't assured him that he had done exactly 
right." 

[ 94 ] 



c§ THEIR HOMES 



Mansfield's success came to him compar- 
atively early in his career, yet he had his 
full share of hardships beforehand. He was a 
prankish boy ; but there was no one to discern 
in his pranks the overflow of vitality which, 
when directed into proper channels, makes for 
genius. He w^as born on the island of Heligo- 
land in 1857. He comes rightfully by his 
genius for the stage, for his mother was the 
celebrated opera-singer, Emma RudersdorfF. 
At ten years he was placed at a school in 
Germany. His artistic tastes led him to paint 
his classroom door a vivid green. He was so 
proud of this achievement that he signed his 
name to it, which, of course, led to his dis- 
covery and punishment. 

His mother came to this country in 1869. 
She sang at the Boston Peace Jubilee in 1872, 
with such success that she settled in Boston, 
and Richard, who then was studying at Yver- 
don, Switzerland, was sent for. He was 
[ 95 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



employed for a time in a large Boston dry- 
goods store, but his artistic aspirations were too 
strong to be overcome. He could sing, play, 
mimic, and paint. The last seemed to him his 
special bent. He rented a studio, painted 
water-colors, and sold them among his friends. 
In a comparatively brief time, however, all 
these were happy possessors of Mansfield 
aquarelles, and the sales fell off in briskness 
until he found himself in the not very cheer- 
ful position of an artist who could paint much 
faster than he could sell. 

In this dilemma he decided to turn his 
talent for music and mimicry to account. He 
hired a small hall, had tickets and circulars 
printed, and, falling back upon his Dickens, 
announced "Vincent Crummel's Entertain- 
ment." He played the piano and sang, and 
gave "imitations" of performers on various 
instruments, very much as he did later in 
"Prince Karl." In 1875 he went to England, 
[ 96] 







^ 



(§ THEIR HOMES 



where he made a precarious hving by painting. 
Often the only meals he had were those he 
secured at houses of friends who invited him 
to help make the evening pass by his clever 
parlor entertainments. Finally he decided to 
give these professionally, but, at the very first 
one, excitement combined with exhaustion 
from hunger caused him to faint at the piano 
after striking one chord. 

Shortly afterwards a chance meeting with 
W. S. Gilbert, who had seen him entertain as 
an amateur, secured him the role of Sir Joseph 
Porter at £3 a week in a " Pinafore " company 
which was to do the provinces. He remained 
three years with Gilbert, played an engage- 
ment in comic opera in London, and then, 
in 1882, returned to the United States in a 
comic opera company organized by D'Oyly 
Carte. 

I was present at his first appearance on the 
stage in this country. It was at the Standard, 
L or C, [ 99 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



now the Manhattan Theatre, New York, in 
September, 1882, m " Les Manteaux Noirs." 
His role, Dromez, the stupid miller, was a 
minor one, but it was the single success of 
the evening. So was his Nick Vedder in 
Planquette's "Rip Van Winkle." The public 
did not care for either piece, but it was very 
plain that individually Mansfield had made 
a hit. 

Soon afterwards he became a member of 
A. M. Palmer's company at the Union Square 
Theatre, where I saw him, unknown here save 
for a few comic opera roles, fairly burst upon the 
audience as Baron Chevrial, the first night of 
" A Parisian Romance." No such sensational 
event in theatricals has occurred since, yet 
his securing the role which made him famous 
in a night was through the merest accident. 
He originally was cast for a minor role, Tirin- 
dal, the blase youth of the piece. But during 
the last week of rehearsal J. H. Stoddart gave 
[ 100 ] 



THEIR HOMES 



up the role of the Baron. He had found it 
uncongenial, and had been unable to make any- 
thing of it. The part then was given to 
JNIansfield. At rehearsals he kept the " busi- 
ness " of the role to himself, so that at the per- 
formance the rest of the company, as well as the 
manager, were as much amazed as the audience 
at the inarvellous realism with which JNIans- 
field portrayed the old roue on the verge of 
collapse. After the supper scene, in which 
Mansfield, summoning to his aid every resource 
of realistic art, had acted the Baron's horrible 
death by apoplexy with overpowering force, 
the audience, excited to the highest pitch, 
fairly rose at the young actor and gave him 
such an ovation as rarely has been witnessed 
in a New York theatre. 

The actor now was in a peculiar position. 
He had made such a success that although only 
a few months had elapsed since his first appear- 
ance on the American stage, he was ready to 
[ 101 J 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



star. But he was a star without a play. Con- 
sequently he was "loaned" around by Mr. 
Palmer ; but, except for the role of the amusing 
French tenor in " French Flats," which he 
played in San Francisco, and in which he made 
a hit, none of the characters suited him. He 
was playing Koko in " The Mikado " in Boston 
when he received the manuscript of '" Prince 
Karl." This he brought out at the Boston 
Museum in April, 1886, and from this produc- 
tion his career as a star may be said to have 
begun. He alternated the new play with " A 
Parisian Romance," and later added his power- 
ful interpretation of " Dr. Jekyll and Mr. 
Hyde." His wonderful versatility was shown 
in his ability to combine a light piece like 
" Prince Karl " with the two others mentioned, 
and he soon gave further evidence of it by 
producing " Monsieur," a charming little piece 
of his own writing. 

In 1889 the actor who a few years ago had 
[ 102 ] 



THEIR HOMES 



fainted from sheer hunger at his first attempt 
to give a drawing-room entertainment in Lon- 
don, and had afterwards knocked around the 
provinces in comic opera, received an invi- 
tation from Henry Irving to occupy the Ly- 




Copyrujht, i,'/".'. h\j J. Byron 
A Favorite Spot on a Summer Day 

ceum Theatre. The most important addition 
to his repertoire during this engagement was 
"Richard III.," of which he made a magnifi- 
cent production. In the autumn he brought 
this over to America, but it was staged so 
elaborately that in order to be financially suc- 
[ 103 ] 



FAMOUS ACTOKS 



cessful a continuous succession of crowded 
houses was necessary, and, these faihng, the 
piece was withdrawn. " Beau Brummell," 
" Don Juan," " Nero," " Ten Thousand a 
Year," " The Scarlet Letter," " Merchant of 
Venice," " Arms and the Man," " Napoleon," 
" King of Peru," " Rodion the Student," 
"Castle Sombras," "The Devil's Disciple," 
" The First Violin," " Cyrano de Bergerac," 
" Henry V.," " Beaucaire," and " Julius Caesar " 
have followed. 

An interesting anecdote is connected with 
his Shylock. Although his first Shakespearian 
production on the stage was " Richard III.," 
Shylock was his first Shakespearian role. For 
he had appeared in it at an amateur perform- 
ance when he was a pupil at the Derby School, 
England. His acting attracted the attention 
of Dr. Selwyn, then Bishop of Litchfield, who, 
congratulating him, said, " I have no desire to 
encourage any one to become an actor, but 
[ 104 1 



c^ THEIR HOMES 



should you choose to, I beheve you will be a 
great one." While he was playing Baron 
Chevrial at the Union Square, Mansfield 
adopted a rule of temperance which he has 
followed during his entire career, and to which 
he believes he largely owes his physical vigor 
and his capacity for hard work. He found the 
strain of Chevrial so great that he drank 
champagne between the acts. One night it 
occurred to him that if he kept on he would 
require a greater and greater quantity before 
his nerves responded. He at once put an 
end to the habit, and has since relied upon 
temperate living for the conservation of his 
forces. 

Richard Mansfield is known to look upon 
Garrick as his model. The Garrick Theatre, 
New York, was so named by him when he 
took over the management of the house, and 
it has retained its name since it passed into 
other hands. He believes that, like Garrick, a 
[ 105 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



true actor should be able to assimilate all 
kinds of roles, — comedy as well as tragedy. 
In his own career he has illustrated the 
correctness of this theory, when applied by 
actors as great as Garrick and — Richard 
Mansfield. His Prince Karl and Beaucaire 
are delightful examples of the comedian's art. 
Nothing in the line of eccentric character act- 
ing, touched with tragedy, can surpass his 
Cyrano ; and for eloquent declamation his 
" Henry V." is unrivalled. In spite of the 
gorgeous spectacular mounting which he gave 
to that Shakespearian " historic," the dramatic 
force of his own acting stood out in bold relief 
from the glittering background of costumes 
and scenery. There are a host of admirers 
who consider Mansfield the greatest actor of 
the English-speaking stage of to-day, and not 
so very few who rank him as the greatest 
living actor. 

Yet those who know him best may be 
[ 106 ] 



(% THEIR HOMES 



pardoned if they rank him even higher in a 
role in which the pubhc knows him not, — 
in his own home, with Mrs. Mansfield as 
leading woman and " Georgie " as leading 
juvenile. 



[ 107 ] 




E. H. SOTHERN AND 
HIS WIFE 





E. H. SOTHERN AND HIS WIFE, 
VIRGINIA HARNED 

H, DEBT' exclaimed Mrs. 
Sothern, with great emphasis 
and in a voice that sounded 
as if she were very angry, 
though there was a twinkle 
in her eyes quite at variance with her tone of 
voice. At the same time she reached out for 
a piece of bread, and made a gesture as if to 
throw it the whole length of the table at Mr. 
Sothern. Then she gazed helplessly at the 
high centre-piece of flowers, and with a de- 
spairing look which said, " I can't throw it 
over that and hit him too," she put down the 
bread and ended the little by-play of comedy 
with a pretty laugh. 

[ "1 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



" Dee " is Mr. Sothern's nickname. No one 
knows what it means or whence it is derived. 
His father, whose memory he worships, called 
him Dee ; his intimate friends, who worship 
him, call him Dee ; and his wife calls him 
Dee, except that, when she is speaking of him 
to mere acquaintances, she refers to him sum- 
marily as " E. H." — " You know ' E. H.' has 
a great eye for light effects," or " Of course, 
no one on the stage has a voice like ' E. H.'" 
Has any one ever heard " Dee's " wife call him 
" Mr. Sothern " ? 

Mrs. Sothern has among her friends three 
young women who with herself and Mr. 
Sothern made a tour through Scotland. 
Whenever she is with them they refer to Mr. 
Sothern in broad Scotch as "feyther." He, 
having been the only man in the touring party, 
was invested with that dignified title, and ever 
since has gone by it with them. Mrs. Sothern 
enjoys telling how, when they would come to 
[ 112 ] 



(% THEIR HOMES 



an inn, "feyther" would sit at the head of 
the table and begin cutting a big loaf of bread. 
By the time he had finished with it, they had 
too, — they had eaten it all up, — and would 
exclaim in chorus, " * Feyther,' cut some 
more ! " In great part the Sotherns' holidays 
are spent abroad foot-touring in the Austrian 
Tyrol or in the highlands of Wales and 
Scotland. 

But to return to Mrs. Sothern's emphatic 
*' Oh, Dee I " and her abandoned attempt to 
throw a piece of bread at him lengthwise the 
table. It was led up to rather amusingly. 
Some one had broached the subject of house- 
keeping. " Dee," remarked Mrs. Sothern, play- 
fully, "you had much better dinners at my 
house before I married you than you 've ever 
had since, did n't you ? " 

Mr. Sothern looked very serious. It is one 
of the characteristics of his humor that he 
can assume the gravest aspect in moments of 
[113 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



banter. He looked appealingly at the com- 
pany about the table. " Before I was married," 
he said, " I ran my house and ordered the meals. 
When I married that woman over there, she 
said to me, * Now, Dee, you won't have to 
keep house again, I '11 do all that.' Of course 
I was only too glad to hand it over to her. 
When we sat down at table the first night in 
our own home, I was all expectant. It would 
be delightful to eat a dinner with the ordering 
of which I had had nothing to do. Every- 
thing would be a surprise. Well, it was a sur- 
prise. What do you think she had for that 
first dinner ? A ham ! Absolutely nothing 
but a ham ! Yes, indeed, it was a surprise 
— but I at once resumed charge of the 
housekeeping myself. Remember," he added 
pathetically, " it was, * Now, Dee, you won't 
have to keep house again.' I never have 
dared, since that one trial, to let the house- 
keeping go out of my hands." 
[ 114] 



c% THEIR HOMES 



" The fact is," said Mrs. Sothern, after she 
had put down the bread she had intended as 
a missile for her husband's head, " we had a 
full course dinner. But Dee dotes on having 




Copy I Hjlit, 19U2, by J. Sarony 
E. H. Sothern in his Lihrary 

cold chicken with his ham, which I didn't 
know — so I left out the cold chicken, that 's 
all." 

" But I am still keeping house, and you will 
observe that we have at present on the table 
[ 115] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



not only a fine ham, but also a delicious cold 
chicken," was Mr. Sothern's peroration. Then 
every one laughed, and no one more so than 
" Virgie," as jNIr. Sothern calls his wife. 

Both are strongly developed artistic person- 
alities and naturally their views sometimes 
differ. JNlrs. Sothern enjoys telling how at 
dinner one time they got into an argument 
which waxed so fierce that she left the table 
and went upstairs to her room. A professional 
friend, a woman, was dining with them, and, 
to relieve the awkv/ardness of the situation, 
she said to JNIr. Sothern : " Never mind, 
Virgie will soon be all right again." 

" All right again ? " calmly said INIr. 
Sothern. " She 's all right now. I would n't 
live with a woman who hadn't mind enough 
of her own to disagree with me." The friend 
slipped upstairs and repeated this to JVIrs. 
Sothern, who at once " melted " and came 
downstairs ; and the rest of the evening passed 
[ IIG] 



THEIR HOMES 



off most agreeably. Mr. and Mrs. Sothern 
are in fact a chummy couple, and it was a 
great hardship to them two seasons ago, when 
managerial policy parted them professionally. 

From the time they separated in September 
they were not to see each other until the fol- 
lowing May. At no place did their routes 
meet. He played East ; she went West. 
Their nearest meeting was to be in Philadel- 
phia in March, when Mr. Sothern was to close 
on one Saturday night at one theatre, and his 
wife was to open the following JMonday at 
another. But the temptation to meet his 
wife was too strong for the actor, and he ar- 
ranged that his engagement should be extended 
to three weeks instead of two, so that it would 
overlap his wife's engagement one week. 

It was a hazardous thing to do, financially, 

for even the strongest plays do not run long in 

Philadelphia. The chances were for a financial 

loss, and ]Mr. S other n's manager naturally de- 

[ 117] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



murred. '' I myself hardly believed the play 
would run profitably for three weeks," said Mr. 
Sothern, " but 1 told my manager to chance it, 
and I would pocket the loss." And loss it 
was. The meeting cost JVIr. Sothern exactly 
one thousand dollars. " But it was worth it to 
see my wife," he laughingly added. 

The two never had seen each other in their 
plays, so JMiss Harned arranged to give a 
Wednesday matinee that week in order that 
her husband could see her, and the husband, 
who never plays a mid-week matinee, gave a 
Thursday matinee so that his wife could see 
him in his play. 

This incident very aptly illustrates the 
itinerancy of an actor's life ; but, for the more 
special purpose of this article, it shows the 
happy relations that exist between Mr. and 
Mrs. Edward H. Sothern. 

"I think," said Rowland Buckstone, Sothern's 
lifelong friend, " that Dee owns a few neck- 
[ 118] 



^ THEIR HOMES 



ties. Everything else he has given to his 
wife." 

Sothern and Buckstone inherited their 
friendship from their fathers. The elder Buck- 
stone, who acted here many years ago, so many 
that he was obliged to travel from New York to 
Philadelphia by stagecoach, the coach breaking 
down at night in the middle of a forest, gave 
the elder Sothern his first engagement at the 
Haymarket, London. Tlie two boys first met 
as children, — about four years old, — when the 
Sotherns were visiting the Buckstones. They 
were put to bed together, and the tradition is 
that Sothern '* stage-managed the bed." Buck- 
stone recalls one occasion when there was com- 
pany at the house, and the boys were to be 
admitted to the parlor to be " on view " at a 
certain time. Just as they were about to be 
called in, the '' grown ups " in the parlor heard 
" Eddy " protesting to the nurse, " Tumpany 
or no tumpany, I won't have my face cleaned 
[ 119] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



with ' pit ' ! " It was so evident to the company 
what the nurse was attempting to do, and the 
situation was so famihar to them from their 
own childhood, that they were convulsed. 
Sothern was rather a silent boy. Some one 
would ask, " Where is Eddy ? " and when 
they looked about he would be sitting by 
himself in a corner. Now, on occasion, he is a 
splendid talker. 

Another intimate friend of E. H. Sothern's, 
one who knew his father intimately, and has 
known " E. H." since his youth, is Dr. Francis 
A. Harris, of Boston. Mr. Sothern's loyalty 
to his father's memory also finds expression in 
his loyalty to his father's friends. Dr. Harris 
is enthusiastic about him, and says the charm 
of his friendship lies in everything that makes 
human friendship desirable, — modesty, gener- 
osity, patience with the shortcomings of 
others, forgiveness and forgetfulness of injury, 
courtesy to all, of either sex, a keen appre- 
[ 120 ] 



^ THEIR HOMES 



elation of humor, a ready wit, the rare 
quahty of being a good hstener as well as a 
most interesting talker, and this on many 
subjects quite outside the range of his profes- 
sion, and a purity of character quite unusual. 
" Indeed," writes Dr. Harris to me, " in all 
the years of our acquaintance I have yet to 
hear him tell an anecdote the least bit ' off 
color,' or listen with approval to one told by 
another, even though the hour, the * spread,' 
and the character of the company might have 
condoned." 

It was in the early seventies, when young 
Sothern came over from England to visit his 
father, that Dr. Harris first met him. He 
found him a modest, rather retiring youth, full 
of keen desire for sport, but with none of the 
bumptiousness and self-assertion so common to 
young men of that age. There was a fishing 
excursion to the Rangeleys, the company being 
made up of the late Williain J. Florence and 
[ 121 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



George Holland, Mr. Henry M. Rogers, a dis- 
tinguished lawyer of Boston, the Sotherns, and 
Dr. Harris. On this trip young Sothern's 

whole personality was 
a constant source of 
pleasure to his father's 
friends, especially his 
respect and 
love for his 
father, and his 
s e 1 f-restraint, 
so much in 
contrast with 
the average 
American 

E. H. Sothern and his Fox Terrier yOUth. 

This filial regard is one of the very strong 
points in his character. Although during the 
last part of the elder Sothern's life " Dee " was 
separated from his father through circum- 
stances which he could not control, his loyalty 
[ 122 ] 




^ THEIR HOMES 



never wavered. His strong affection endured 
to the very end, and no man ever had a son 
who carried the fond memory of his " governor " 
in more cherished remembrance. He has often 
been begged and advised to assume some of 
the roles which made his father famous, but he 
has steadfastly refused, not from distrust of 
his ability to portray adequately the characters, 
but because he feared lest the public, especially 
the old friends of his father, should disapprove 
and charge him with presumption. 

Sothern's generosity has been manifested 
in many ways aside from temporary financial 
help to those of his profession in straitened 
circumstances. It has been shown in advice, 
encouragement, the frequent and generally 
successful attempt, in the language of Dun- 
dreary, "to help a lame dog over a stile." 
This generosity often has been repaid with 
the rankest ingratitude, but this has had no 
influence in shadowing his sunny nature, or 
[ 1^3 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



prevented his again trying to help those in 
need. 

A man whom Sothern had befriended in 
every way took offence at what he considered 
the insufficiency of his role, and left Sothern's 
company in a huff. When, a little later. Dr. 
Harris happened to mention some little cour- 
tesies he had extended to Sothern's former 
friend, not knowing of the estrangement, and 
even then getting but the meagrest details, and 
added that had he known the situation his 
action might have been different, Sothern re- 
plied, " It was awfully sweet of you, dear old 
Doc ; I would not have had it otherwise for the 
world." At another time when a friend both 
of himself and his father was in prospective 
financial straits, Sothern, in the most unob- 
trusive way, handed him a check in four 
figures and said, " Call again," and though after 
that he himself was hard pushed by the com- 
parative failure of a play, he would not hear of 
[ 124 ] 



(§ THEIR HOMES 



repayment. He also has always manifested a 
respect and interest in all the old friends of his 
father, men who would naturally be thought, 
owing to the disparity of years, able to afford 
little of interest to him in their lives or 
personality. 

Of the Sotherns' domestic life Dr. Harris 
writes : " Those who have been fortunate 
enough to see it, know how happy it is, and it 
is most amusing to see and hear the excited 
discussions between ' Dee ' and ' Virgie ' when 
the twinkle of the eyes of Sothern, matched by 
the lovelight in those of his wife, showed how 
unreal was the inock battle. And it is touch- 
ing, when they are apart, to hear the tributes 
of each to the other in regard to personal 
qualities. These and the enthusiastic apprecia- 
tion of the professional abilities of each from 
the other are convincing proof that there are 
other happy marriages among the profession 
besides that of Mr. and Mrs. Kendal." 
[ 125 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



As a boy Sothern had shown a fondness for 
drawing, and his father had wanted him to 
become an artist. But, much to the father's 
disappointment, he failed to pass for the Royal 
Academy schools, although old Frith had 
assured the elder Sothern that his boy would 
get in. It was then he came to America to 
join his father, having been here only once 
before, in 1875, for the trip recalled by Dr. 
Harris. 

In England he had been to school at Dun- 
church, in Warwickshire. He remembers that 
one of his schoolmasters was passionately fond 
of riding to hounds, sometimes spending from 
eight to ten hours a day at it, and that the 
boys would be obliged to have their lessons 
early so that their sporty instructor could get 
away to the meets. 

A curiously amusing reminiscence of his 
school-days is of a time when there was mumps 
at the school, and he, and some of the other 
[ 126] 



THEIR HOMES 



boys who had escaped it, managed, after much 
manoeuvring, to enter the sick ward and rub 
faces with the sick boys, so that they too might 
get mumps — and dehghted they were when it 
developed, for they thought it more fun to 
have mumps than to study. 

This escapade, and several others in which 
young Sothern was engaged, had an amazing 
sequel, and one probably impossible in any 
country but England. A couple of years ago 
— many years after he had left school — he 
visited Dunchurch and his old principal, who, 
after all that lapse of time, was so perceptibly 
shocked by the various bits of school mischief 
which Sothern laughingly began to recall, that 
the visit was almost spoiled. 

The elder Sothern had a tender regard for 
his son, who has since become so eminent an 
actor. A year before his death he wrote to 
his friend. Miss Lucy Derby, now Mrs. Fuller, 
of Boston, " Eddy, my second son, is at the 
[ 127 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



Boston Museum, playing very small parts by 
my advice. . . . He 's a dear, clever lad, and 
for my sake treat him as a brother. He will 
call upon you. He is as nervous as I am, so 
assume that you know him as well as you 
know me — at once." The letter is quoted 
from Mrs. Fuller's article, " The Humor of the 
Elder Sothern " in the Century Magazine. 

E. H. Sothern's Boston engagement was his 
second. His debut had been an absolute i 
failure. It occurred in 1879 at Abbey's Park 
Theatre, New York, as the cabman in " Sam " 
in his father's company. He had only the line 
" Half a crown, your Honor. I think you 
won't object," but even these few words so 
rattled him that he forgot the second sen- 
tence ; and though his father, with whom he 
had the scene, kept prompting him and whis- 
pering " go on," he did not " go on," but " went 
off." The elder Sothern wrote to his friend, 
Mrs. Vincent, of the Boston Museum com- 
[ 128 ] 



c^' THEIR HOMES 



pany, " Poor Eddy is a nice, lovable boy, but 
he never will make an actor." Nevertheless 
Eddy has made himself one. 

The fact of his being the son of the famous 
Sothern did not pave a royal road to success 
for the great comedian's boy. The father 
died the first year the son was on the stage. 
The latter's early career was full of hardships. 
" The fascination of stage w^ork," he said, in 
recalling those years of vicissitudes, "lies in 
the comradeship of people all eager to accom- 
plish a certain object. When you are hard 
up and shoved about from one company to 
another, life on the stage would be unbearable 
but for that comradeship." 

One of his amusing, yet also disheartening 
experiences w^as wdien he was obliged, in a 
performance of " Richard III.," to play, single- 
handed, tw^o armies, — the army of Richard 
and, a few minutes later, the army of Rich- 
mond. Unfortunately the audience " sized 
[ 129 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



up " the army, and, to make matters worse, 
identified the second instahnent. However, 
in 1886, his talent asserted itself in his per- 
formance of Captain Gregory in "One of 
Our Girls," with Helen Dauvray. This in- 
duced Daniel Frohman, in the spring of 
1887, to cast him as Jack Hammerton in 
" The Highest Bidder," a play which, under 
the title " Trade," by John Madison Morton, 
the author of " Box and Cox," Sothern had 
found among his father's effects. A hit in 
this led to his being starred by Daniel 
Frohman, who still is his manager. 

And right at this point, at the very outset 
of his career as a star, Virginia Harned came 
into his life. Mr. Frohman had seen her at 
the Fourteenth Street Theatre in a play 
called " The Long Lane," and had sent for 
her to come to see him. As she tells it, 
" I sailed into his office next day and there 
was Sothern. Shortly before he had met 
[ 130 ] 




»ssv »■,**• 




Photograpfied by Sarony 
Mrs. E. H. Sothern ( Virginia Harned) 



c^ THEIR HOMES 



with an accident, and he was on crutches. 
After I had talked over matters with him 
and Mr. Frohman, and thought everything 
settled, Mr. Frohman said : — 

" ' Now, Miss Harned, would you mind 
standing up so that we can see if, perhaps, 
you are not too tall for Mr. Sothern ? ' 

" I remember exclaiming inwardly, ' Oh 
my ! Why did I wear heels ! ' But I sort 
of crouched as much as I could without 
its being noticeable. Mr. Sothern got up 
on his crutches and stood beside me. * Well, 
Frohman,' he said, ' it seems I still can hold 
my head up.' So I was engaged as his lead- 
ing woinan." 

After the first night of "Lord Chumley," 
in which Sothern began his starring career, 
Mr. Frohman asked Miss Harned, " Why 
did you not come to me before ? " 

" Because," she replied, " you would have 
asked me, ' What can you do ? ' and I would 
[ 133 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



have had to reply, ' Nothing.' " Miss Harned 
had indeed been on the stage but a very 
short time before she became Sothern's lead- 
ing woman. 

She herself was aware that her engagement 
was a very rapid advancement. But she 
never referred to that fact until five years 
later, when Mr. Frohman wanted her and 
Mr. Sothern, to whom she meanwhile had 
been married, to part company professionally, 
and, for business reasons, to star alone. The 
Sotherns were anxious to remain together, 
so, partly to bring home to Mr. Frohman 
the fact that he was responsible for their 
first meeting, Mrs. Sothern asked, " Why 
did you engage me to be Mr. Sothern's lead- 
ing woman after hearing me only once ? " 

" Because," Mr. Frohman answered, " I saw 
that you were born to be a leading woman." 

Mrs. Sothern's birthplace was Boston. Her 
family name was Hicks, her father being a 
[ 134 J 



S^ THEIR HOMES 



Virginian and her mother from New England. 
She was brought up in the South. When she 
was very small — about six years old — her 
ambition was to be a circus-rider, — an am- 
bition with which many children, who don't 
know anything about it, have been fired. At 
fifteen she went abroad and spent two years 
in England. For the stage she studied with 
Emma Waller, chiefly Shakespearian heroines. 
Going on the stage she assumed the name 
Virginia Harned, — Virginia from her father's 
native State ; Harned from her mother's 
family name. 

After her engagement as ]\Ir. Sothern's 
leading woman, she remained with him three 
years. She then acted under A. M. Palmer's 
management, during which she made her great 
success as Trilby. About three seasons after 
she left Sothern's company he was preparing 
to produce " An Enemy to the King," and 
she was to tour with Henry Miller as joint 
[ 135 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



star. At a critical moment in the prepara- 
tions for the production of "An Enemy to 
the King," ^ only three days before the first 
performance, — Mr. Sothern's leading woman 
was taken ill. In this dire emergency he 
turned to Miss Harned. Could she make ready 
in three days to play the role ? It involved 
learning the lines, working out the " business," 
and rehearsing, — doing in three days something 
to which weeks of preparation should be given. 
It was a terrible ordeal, but — for his sake — 
she went through it. The performance oc- 
curred at the Criterion Theatre, New York. 
At dress rehearsal she fainted. She was in 
such a wrought-up state the night of the pro- 
duction that, when off the stage, she had to 
have applications of ice-bags to her head, 
while, in addition, some one sat by and fanned 
her. But everything passed off all right. 
She had saved the play for the man she 
loved — and who loved her. For a few 
[ 136] 



THEIR HOMES 



weeks later, in 1896, they were married, 
and she definitely cancelled her engagement 
with Mr. Miller. Since then, except for a 
brief engagement in Sardou's " Spiritisme," 
which, though a failure, played here three 
weeks longer than Sarah Bernhardt could 
keep it alive in Paris, and until, for purely 
professional and business reasons, she and 
her husband headed separate companies, she 
and Mr. Sothern have acted together. Ex- 
cepting three or four years, her whole stage 
career has been with him. Their principal 
performances have been in " The King's 
Musketeer," which is a version of " The 
Three Musketeers," Hauptmann's " The 
Sunken Bell," and " Hamlet." 

There is a pretty anecdote connected with 
the production of " The Sunken Bell," which 
shows how one artistic nature can influence 
another, even when that other already is 
idealistic. Miss Harned had seen the play 
[ 137] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



during a brief rest abroad, and discerning 
opportunities both for her husband and her- 
self in the principal roles, besides recognizing 
the poetic depth of the play itself, was anxious 
to add it to their repertoire. Mr. Sothern, 
however, after reading the play, did not have 
quite the same high estimate of it, and nothing 
further was done about it at that time. 

During the following summer the Sotherns 
were in A^ienna. One day Mr. Sothern, pass- 
ing a jeweller's, saw a very beautiful jewelled 
necklace in the show window. He went in, 
priced it, and examined it. It could be worn 
as a necklace, or taken apart and turned into 
bracelets, earrings, brooches, and other per- 
sonal adornments. 

" The mechanism of it appealed to Dee 
about as strongly as the beauty of the jewels 
and their setting," says jNIrs. Sothern, with a 
laugh, in telling the story. " Dee came back 
and told me about it, and asked me to go 
[ 138] 



^ THEIR HOMES 



around with him and look at it, and, if I 
hked it, he would buy it for me. Certainly 



it was exquisite, 
just about as much 
as it would cost to 
produce 'The 
Sunken Bell.' 

" ' Well, Virgie,' 
Dee said to me, 
when we had re- 
turned to our 
rooms, 'what about 
the necklace ? ' 

"'Dee,' I said, 
' I 'm just as happy 
as if I had it. Give 
me " The Sunken 
Bell " instead. 



It was 




Copyright, li)03, hy J. Byr 
Sfa7'thH/ for a Walk 

So I had ' The Sunken Bell,' 



but not the necklace. But I am sure I never 
would have had as good a time wearing the neck- 
lace as I had in playing in ' The Sunken Bell.' " 
[ 139 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



Mr. Sothern is one of the few theatrical 
stars of the day who is fostering the romantic 
drama, and who has demonstrated practically 
that Shakespeare does not "spell ruin." He 
is noted for his liberal dealings with play- 
wrights. A little more than two years ago 
Ernest Lacy, of the Central High School, 
Philadelphia, wrote to Mr. Sothern, who was 
then playing in that city, that he had an 
idea for a new play, but did not care to 
trouble him unless he wished to hear it. The 
actor immediately sent a messenger boy to 
Mr. Lacy's house with a letter saying that 
he was most anxious to learn of any idea in 
the play line that Mr. Lacy might have. That 
evening they met after the performance and 
talked until the gray light of morning. " Bear 
in mind," Mr. Lacy said to me, "that I had 
not the shred of a plot — only an undeveloped 
theme — and that I was, as I still am, an un- 
known adventurer in the realms of playwriting. 
[ 140 ] 



c^ THEIR HOMES 



" To gather materials for the play, it was 
necessary for me to spend some time abroad, 
and to purchase expensive books and engrav- 
ings. When, therefore, at the end of our con- 
versation he asked, ' What do you wish me to 
do ? ' I replied that I desired him to pay a 
considerable sum of money in advance and to 
agree to other stipulations usual in such con- 
tracts. Without a moment's hesitation his 
answer came, ' I will do it ; draw up the con- 
tract.' When, for the second time, it became 
necessary for me to go to England, he willingly 
advanced more money. Although causes 
which I need not give, have seriously delayed 
the progress of the play, his words have always 
been, ' Take your own time ; give me the best 
that is in you ; and, success or failure, I will 
find no fault.' " 

Friends of the Sotherns are fond of telling 
two anecdotes, one relating to Mrs. Sothern, 
the other to him, and both equally charm- 
[ 141 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



ing and readily explaining, if further explana- 
tion were needed, the affectionate regard in 
which both are held by many. Behind one 
of the principal counters at one of the large 
New York dry-goods stores is a small, hunch- 
back, but patient and sweet-tempered woman. 
One evening, after her day in the store, she 
got into a crowded car. Straightway a strik- 
ingly handsome young woman rose and in- 
sisted on giving the hunchback a seat. Later 
she was able to find a seat beside her, fell into 
conversation with her, and, before leaving the 
car, gave her her visiting card and asked her 
to come to see her. The deformed woman 
called in due time, and now she has no kinder 
friend than the handsome stranger who gave 
up her seat to her. Around her neck she 
wears a locket in which is a picture of the 
woman whom she now fairly adores. Were 
she to open the locket for you, the face of 
Virginia Harned would look out at you. 
[ 142 ] 



THEIR HOMES 



Some of Mr. Sothern's people are buried in 
Brompton churchyard, London. Once he wit- 
nessed there the funeral of a child, over whose 
grave the grief- stricken parents placed some of 
the little fellow's toys. When he went there 
later most of the toys had disappeared. On 
visiting the churchyard again he found that on 
the mound over the boy only a hobby-horse 
remained. Rain had caused the paint to run 
off in streaks, and the coarse hair of the mane 
and tail was tangled and matted. The grave 
looked lonely and forsaken. Still later the 
hobby-horse had fallen apart ; only the mound 
remained. 

Moved by the pathos of such evidence of 
forgetfulness and neglect, Mr. Sothern, who 
had brought with him some flowers for the 
graves of his own kin, dropped a rose on the 
little chap's last resting-place. 

"There, little fellow," he said, "have one 
with me." 

[ 143 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



Whenever, thereafter, on his trips to Eng- 
land, he visited Brompton churchyard, he had 
a flower for this grave ; and when, a few sea- 
sons ago, ]Mrs. Sothern went abroad alone, 
almost his last injunction to her was, not to 
forget that boy's mound at Brompton. 

With all his tenderness, Sothern adds to its 
charm a delightful vein of humor. I have 
seen a photograph of him taken when he was 
a youngster, on which he has written, " This 
is a picture of myself in my celebrated charac- 
ter of my own father. For is it not said that 
' the child is father to the man ' ? " 

The Sotherns have a handsome freestone 
house in West Sixty-ninth Street, near Cen- 
tral Park, W., in New York City. There is 
a handsome grilled entrance, and Venetian 
grillage guards the lower windows. Any 
sombre aspect which might result from this 
is offset by the bright potted flowers behind 
the grillage. The hall is roomy and arranged 
[ 144 ] 




Copyright, 1902, by J. Byron 
E. H. Sothern and his Wife in the Main Hall of their Home 



Ss THEIR HOMES 



for sitting. The walls are decorated with 
mounted heads of wild beasts ; near the broad 
stairway is a jar full of weird javelins, and on 
the stairway landing a tall clock. IN'oticeable 
is a deerskin, head and all, thrown over the 
banister. Back of the hall is the dining-room, 
where again there are heads of wild animals 
on the walls — an especially fine one of a boar 
— and a chest of silver, all tributes to E. A. 
Sothern, E. H. Sothern, and "Virgie." The 
room is furnished in heavy black oak. 

The hall of the second floor might be called 
a "Hall of Fame," ^ not of E. H. Sothern, 
but of his father, ^ for its most conspicuous ob- 
ject is a screen cabinet full of relics of the elder 
Sothern. The drawing-room is in green and 
silver, and is done in the style of the three 
Louis. On the floor above are the library, 
where JNlr. Sothern does much of his work, 
and some of the bedrooms. Mr. Sothern tells 
me that he can best study a role lying flat on 
[ 147 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



his back in bed and staring at the blank ceil- 
ing ; then there is nothing to interfere with 
his vision of the stage in his imagination. The 
blank ceiling becomes the space behind the 
footlights ; he sees the setting of the scene 
as it should be ; the other characters come 
and go ; and, as he goes over the lines of 
his own role, he can see himself on the stage 
and work out all the " business " of the part, 
without his clear theatrical perception being 
interfered with by any of the furnishings of 
his own house. 

The wild animal heads which decorate the 
hall and dining-room of this house are not his 
trophies. He says himself that he could not 
persuade himself to kill a deer, adding that 
he shot one, when he was young, and that 
he has felt like a murderer ever since. 

At dinner one evening at the Sotherns, 
a friend happened to mention the tragedy 
at IMeyerling. Mrs. Sothern expressed the 
[ 148 ] 



THEIR HOMES 



opinion that Archduke Rudolph must have 
been insane. 

" Xot necessarily," said INIr. Sothern, look- 
ing up and speaking without the suggestion 
of a smile and in the serious tone which he 
assumes whenever he cracks a joke, " even 
kind men have been known to kill their 
wives." 

About midnight the friend who had been 
their guest met them walking up Broadway 
after the theatre. " I want you to observe," 
said Mr. Sothern, stopping him, "that al- 
though kind men have been known to kill 
their wives, JNIrs. Sothern is still alive." 



[ 149 ] 



FRANCIS WILSON 




T the instant of the drop of the 
curtain, every night when he 
is playing in New York, Fran- 
cis Wilson hurries to his dress- 
ing-room, jumps into his street 
clothes and catches the last train, which leaves 
the Grand Central Station at 12.06 midnight, 
for New Rochelle. The most attractive invi- 
tations allure him not " Oh, I 'm a home 
body, you know," he says as he smiles his win- 
ning smile and is off for his train. His anxiety 
to catch this train has made the actor a very 
quick dresser. No matter how late it is when 
the performance is over, he somehow or other 
always catches the train. After a certain open- 
ing night, when the play ran unusually long, 
[ 153 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



his family and a party of friends had all they 
could do to make their way out of the theatre 
and with all speed reach the Grand Central 
Station with only a few moments' leeway to 
catch the train. But there on the platform 
was the " home man " waiting for them. It 
is the same if he plays in Harlem, Brooklyn, 
Jersey City, Williamsburg, or Newark : every 
night finds him at home. And if he plays in 
Philadelphia, Baltimore, or as far as Washing- 
ton, each Sunday morning finds him on the 
train bound for home. 

A friend in Philadelphia tried to persuade 
the actor from his usual course one Sunday, 
holding out to him a most attractive Sunday 
amid books and paintings in his home. 

" I know," smiled the actor ; *' I 'd love to 
do it. Honestly, I would. But I '11 tell you 
the truth. At half-past one this afternoon the 
two dearest little girls in the world, with their 
mother, will be in a trap waiting for me at the 
[ 154 ] 



c| THEIR HOMES 



New Rochelle station, and I would n't disap- 
point them for anything. You can understand 
it, old man, can't 
you ? I only see 
them once a week 
now, you know." 
And with a 
smile, as only 
Francis Wilson 
can smile at a 
friend, he swung 
himself on the 
car bound for that 
home where cen- 
tres everything, 
outside of his art, 
that is precious to 
one of the most 
domestic actors 




Copyright, 1900, by J. Byron 
Francis Wilson at Home 



on the American stage. I have known Francis 

Wilson to take this journey home from Boston, 

[ 155 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



returning again early on Monday, and I have 
known him to travel fourteen hours to be at 
home three hours, and then turn around and 
travel fourteen hours back. 

And it is a most interesting home to which 
the actor goes, — a home, too, with a bit of 
a history. He calls it " The Orchard," be- 
cause the ground was an apple orchard when 
he bought it, and apple-trees still surround the 
house. He arranged to build a small home 
there in 1891. About the time that he began 
to build he produced " The Merry Monarch." 
Success came, and before he had his cellar 
finished he decided that the profits from his 
opera warranted a larger house, so he told the 
builder to " wait for a few days " until he 
"added a room or two." This was done. 
Meanwhile the opera grew more profitable. 
He decided to add another room. The opera 
progressed, and with its progress rose Wilson's 
ideas. By this time the architect and builder 
[156] 



^ THEIR HOMES 



were mystified at Wilson's sudden and con- 
tinued additions. Finally he added a private 
theatre on the top floor, where it is erroneously 
supposed he often rehearses his operas in mini- 
ature, the fact being that it was built for a 
playhouse for his children. 

Francis Wilson is noted as a book collector. 
In his library he has over ten thousand vol- 
umes. The library has grown until every 
room overflows with books, and even in the 
walls of the halls shelves have been built. 
His taste in the choice of books is exceed- 
ingly good, his Napoleonic collection being 
considered one of the finest and most valu- 
able in America. Some of his first editions 
are priceless. His shelves are full of auto- 
graphed copies of books and of complete rare 
manuscripts. 

In the first period of his book-collecting 
he was what might be termed a book-hunter. 
His collection of Napoleana dates from then. 
[ 157 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



But for some time past his original hobby for 
collecting rare editions has been superseded by 
a desire to get together a complete library of 
English literature. He also has made a fine 
autograph collection, including a manuscript 
of Washington Irving, a most interesting let- 
ter of Byron offering his yacht to join in the 
search for Shelley's body, several Washington 
letters, and the autographs of Napoleon, all 
the members of his family and his generals. 
His affection for Eugene Field gives peculiar 
value to the latter s autograph in his collec- 
tion. When playing " Nadjy " the comedian 
introduced a song entitled " The Tale of Woe," 
which he had heard sung in England. At a 
performance in Chicago the poet recognized 
the words as some fugitive verses of his own. 
He met Wilson, and a warm friendship sprang 
up between poet and comedian. 

Every moment of leisure Wilson has when 
at home is spent in his library. Nearly the 
[ 158 ] 



c^ THEIR HOMES 



whole summer he remams at New Rochelle, 
and at least fifteen weeks of the theatrical 
season are so arranged that he can be there. 
He reaches home generally at 12.30 a. m., goes 
straight to his library, eats his customary bowl 
of milk and crackers, and sits down and talks 
with his wife, who nearly every night waits up 
for him. When JVIrs. Wilson retires the actor 
starts to read and write, which he usually keeps 
up until about three o'clock. Then he retires 
and sleeps until eleven, when he rises. 

Into his library he goes, and stays until one 
o'clock, which is his hour for luncheon. In 
the afternoon it is the library again until five, 
when the principal meal of the day is eaten in 
the Wilson home, and at seven the actor is off 
for Xew York and the theatre. 

If he can get a friend to sit up with him in 
his " den," after his return from the theatre, he 
delights in taking up problems in art or litera- 
ture, or in discussing a writer with the utmost 
[161 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



thoroughness. Many a friend has sat there 
Avith him and talked until he could not keep 
his eyes open. But when the friend retired 
the actor settled down and read a couple of 
hours longer. His friends, like his books, are 
such as can help him along in what he missed 
in early life. In addition to a wide range of 
purely literary works, he reads political econ- 
omy and history just as part of a general men- 
tal drill. His books are not for show. They 
are riddled with underscorings. 

The time he does not spend with his books 
is spent with his pictures, for whatever wall 
space in the Wilson home is not taken up 
with books is taken up with paintings. And 
the paintings are paintings. There is a Kem- 
brandt, a Corot, a Rosa Bonheur, six or seven 
Mauves, a Cazin, a Jacque, three by Neuhuys, 
several Blommers, two or three Jules Bretons, 
several Thaulows, a Schreyer, a Ziem, a Mon- 
chablon, one of the best of Detaille's water- 
[162] 



Ss THEIR HOMES 



colors, and so on, each painting the careful 
choice and the loving pride of the comedian 
and his wife. 

It is upon books and paintings that the ac- 
tor's large income is mainly spent. He has 
no expensive personal habits to gratify. He 
is absolutely prohibition in principles, never 
touching a drop of liquor nor taking a stim- 
ulant of any sort. He never smokes. He 
dresses neatly but inexpensively. In all his 
habits he is essentially frugal. He never 
touches coffee nor tea, and he also is a light 
eater. He rarely takes more than two meals 
a day, and one of these is so light that it hardly 
would count with a person not accustomed to 
a frugal life. In season a slice of watermelon 
often serves for the crackers and milk on his 
arrival at home from the theatre. " No won- 
der the rascal 's always well," said a noted phy- 
sician to Wilson's friend Leon H. Vincent, the 
author and lecturer ; "he never eats anything ! " 
[163] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



Aside from his books and pictures he lavishes 
the best on his wife and family. Francis Wil- 
son was married twenty-three years ago, when 
he was twenty-six years of age. It may sur- 
prise some who see the agile comedian on the 
stage to know that he is forty-nine years old. 
He was born in Philadelphia, February 7, 1854. 
His wife was a Miss Mira Barrie and was act- 
ing in the company with him when he fell in 
love with her. 

He has two children, Frances, who is six- 
teen years of age, and Adelaide, who is four- 
teen. They are charming girls and devoted 
to their father and mother. Both are now in 
Paris at school and studying music for a year, 
when they will return to prepare for college. 
With these two the father is a merry, youth- 
ful companion. He is the life of the house, 
and as young as the youngest boy and girl in 
his children's circle of friends. Laughter and 
bright spirits pervade the Wilson home, and 
[ 1C4 ] 



(§ THEIR HOMES 



the father's funniest pranks are cut up in the 
house at New Rochelle. 

Francis Wilson's friendships are few but 
strong, and he has a way of holding them. 
His closest friends are men of literary tastes 
and persuasions. In each city where he plays 
he has one or two of these bookish friends, and 
these suffice for him. AVhat time he does not 
spend in their company and in the libraries 
of their homes he can always be found in the 
principal bookstore of the city. 

Latterly antique furniture has captured his 
tastes, and now the old furniture shops see 
much of him. A year ago he heard that there 
were in Boston some chairs and settles made 
out of the old pew-ends of Shakespeare's 
church at Stratford-on-Avon. The comedian 
hastened to the shop and purchased a settle. 

" That evening, while I was playing," said 
he, " I saw nothing but Shakespeare chairs 
and settles, and I thought what a ninny I had 
[ 165 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



been not to have bought a dozen of those 
chairs for our dining-room. I couldn't wait 
for the next morning to come, so I sat up all 
night and read ; and bright and early at 8 
A. M., I was at that shop. Afraid somebody 
would get there ahead of me, you know. I 
got 'em — thirteen of 'em. I knew that when 
they arrived at home Mrs. Wilson would feel 
like kicking me until she knew what they 
were, then she 'd feel like kissing me." 

And now around the Wilson dining-table 
stand the fine old chairs with the Prince of 
Wales plume on the top (they can be seen in 
tlie photograph of the family at dinner on the 
opposite page), and host and hostess and their 
daughters and friends each sit in a Shake- 
speare chair, while the actor smiles at the way 
he sat up all night in Boston waiting for the 
little shop to open. But all this is Francis 
Wilson's delight. 

Wilson's accomplishments are chiefly liter- 

[ l(iG ] 



^ THEIR HOMES 



ary. He writes exceedingly well, as " The 
Ladies' Home Journal " readers discovered 
when they read his cat story, " Lady Jule," 
published last year. He has written for other 
magazines, and is the author of three books 
about Eugene Field. The actor is now writ- 
ing his first long story, and it will soon be pub- 
lished. His literary bent is pronounced, and 
it is not unlikely that, like Clara Morris, Fran- 
cis Wilson will be known quite as widely as a 
writer as he is as ari actor. He reads in French 
as easily as in English. Last summer it was 
the delight of his life to take his family to 
Italy, and before he went he dug away at the 
Italian tongue. One of his branch courses he 
took by patronizing an Italian barber and con- 
versing with him every day in Italian. He 
never allowed the barber to speak to him 
in anything but Italian. In this way he 
quickly picked up a conversational grasp of 
the language. 

[ 169] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



He has also been successful as a lecturer, 
and two summers ago lectured before the great 
Chautauqua Assembly at Chautauqua, New 
York. 

The most remarkable phase of Francis Wil- 
son's life is that all the knowledge which he 
possesses is self- attained. He is one of the 
most striking examples of what a man can do 
for himself. His youthful education was sadly 
neglected. The circumstances of his parents 
did not permit much in the way of education 
for their children, and what they could give 
to Francis was pushed aside by him in his 
desire to act and study for the stage. No 
sooner had he reached the stage, however, 
than he realized that to be an actor in the 
truest sense of the word meant reading and 
knowledge. So he started to dig out for him- 
self what he had not allowed others to do for 
him. Even in the days when he was a min- 
strel, on his railroad journeys throughout the 

[ no ] 



c| THEIR HOMES 



country, while other members of the company 
were sleeping, cracking jokes, or passing their 
time in idleness, AVilson could always be found 
in the quietest and most secluded corner of the 
car absorbed in some book. In this way and 
in these odd moments he dug out for himself 
not only a knowledge of English literature, but 
also completely mastered the French language 
and read the best French books in the original 
editions. He would inveigle one of the mem- 
bers of the company to hold the book while he 
recited passage after passage in French to see 
if " he knew it." He never allowed a moment 
to be wasted. A leisure minute meant to him 
a sentence in some book. And so it is to-day. 
Between a matinee and a night performance 
he employs every moment in reading or wi'it- 
ing. His most treasured piece of baggage is 
not the trunk which contains his costumes, but 
one which he had especially built to hold fifty 
books. This trunk goes wherever he goes, and 
[ 171 ] ■ 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



when he has finished the fifty books with him 
the trunk is sent home, a new fifty are substi- 
tuted, and the trunk catches him at the next 
city where he plays. 

Thus, self-educated himself, he believes in 
the same method for others. He is probably 
the only American actor who has a Chautau- 
qua circle in his company. This circle has 
stated meetings once a week or fortnight, and 
over these Francis Wilson presides with an 
enthusiasm that communicates itself to all its 
members. 

Nor does his interest in education stop with 
himself and those immediately about him. A 
most touching anecdote of his eagerness to 
help others along on the road of knowledge 
was told me by Kemble, the artist. One 
night last winter on his way to the theatre in 
New York he noticed a boy, an Italian fruit- 
vender, crouched near a gasoline torch, writ- 
ing. Stopping and asking the boy what he 
[ 172 ] 



^ THEIR HOMES 



was writing, he found out that the lad had no 
time to go to school, but was trying to learn 




Copyriyht, I'JU-, by J. Byron 
A Quiet Game with his Daughter 

during odd moments while tending the fruit- 
stand. From that time until his engagement 
at the theatre closed, Wilson wrote out a daily 
[ 173 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



lesson for the boy, obtained his written answers 
the following day, and on the third handed 
them back to him corrected. 

In his recreative moods he is as versatile as 
he is in his bookish moods. He is consid- 
ered one of the most expert fencers in the 
country, and is a long-distance swimmer of 
repute. He loves the water, and in summer 
swims every morning with his family off the 
beach at New Rochelle. He delights and ex- 
cels at golf, is an expert at chess, plays an in- 
vincible game of ping-pong, and at tennis on 
his own place is the joy and life of a game 
with his two girls. 

His wdfe and children are always present on 
the first night of a new opera, and when he 
comes to Philadelphia the right-hand box on 
his opening night is reserved for his mother and 
his sisters, all of whom reside in Philadelphia, 
for Wilson's ancestors on his father's side were 
Quakers ; his mother's people were Virginians. 



c| THEIR HOMES 



" Sending grapes to an admirer ? " smilingly 
asked a friend of the actor once, finding him 
in a fruit-store. 

" That 's right ; an admirer who has admired 
me for nearly fifty years," replied the actor, as 
he gave his mother's address to the fruiterer. 

Thus, surrounded by his family and books 
when at home, and always in the company of 
his books when he is travelling from city to 
city, Francis Wilson leads a happy, studious 
life. The days are never long to him. "They 
have n't hours enough to suit me, and so I 
borrow a few from the night," he once said 
to his intimate friend, Edward Bok. And 
when those who have been in his audience 
at the theatre are soundly sleeping from the 
evening's pleasure he has given them, Francis 
Wilson is sitting deep down in an easy -chair, 
either in the library of his own home or in his 
room at the hotel absorbed in a book, oblivious 
of time or place. 

[ 175 ] 



"THE LAMBS ' 




HE Lambs' Club, on West 
Thirty-sixth Street, New York, 
is the most popular actors' club 
in the world. Its doors never 
are closed. A few seasons ago 
E. W. Presbrey, the playwright, and a Lamb, 
who lived near the club, was burned out at five 
o'clock in the morning, and narrowly escaped 
with his life. In his pajamas and bare feet he 
ran around the corner and through the open 
doors of the Lambs' Club. Practically he was 
at home. That word " home " conveys one 
reason why the club is so popular. It is the 
one retreat from the furnished room and board- 
ing-house open to many members of the pro- 
fession. It is the " home " club of many 
[179] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



players. No wonder it has a large member- 
ship and a large waiting list. 

As a club it enjoys the unique distinction of 
containing both actors and an audience, and a 
highly select audience, too. For there is a 
lay membership as well as a histrionic one. 
The non-histrionic members are of two classes, 
those who, although not actors, follow some 
artistic pursuit, like painters, sculptors, archi- 
tects, or some occupation allied to the stage, 
like playwrights ; and out-and-out lay mem- 
bers, classed as non-professional. Usually the 
latter are men of leisure or semi-leisure. 

A splendid audience both classes of lay 
members form when there is an exchange of 
wit, a suddenly improvised dialogue or bur- 
lesque (often just a spark of wit will fire a 
whole train), or one of the regular monthly gam- 
bols. Once an actor always an actor, and 
actors make proverbially bad audiences. That 
is just where the importance of the Lambs' 
[ 180 ] 



^CAV:: 




Photographed by Sarony 



Harry Montague 



4 THEIR HOMES 



lay membership comes in. The professional 
members always have an audience to whom 
they can act. 

Sometimes a group of actors may be dining 
at one table and a lay member or two at the 
adjoining table. The actors' talk will be the 
more brilliant for the lay auditors' proximity. 
The actors have an audience, — that is enough 
to set their wits going. 

Maurice Barrymore was one of the best 
beloved as well as one of the most brilliant 
members of the club. When he was at his 
best his speech was so salted with epigrams 
he never failed to have an admiring audience. 
His friends always tried to give the conversa- 
tion a turn which would enable him to cap it 
with a clever "line." They "fed" him, as 
the term is in theatricals. 

I remember once dining at the Lambs' at a 
table near that at which " Barry " sat with 
three other actors. They were talking about 
[ 183 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



adaptations of French farces, and of how much 
the French originals lost in the English ver- 
sions. It was fascinating for me to watch the 
men with Barrymore lead the talk step by 
step and with the greatest skill up to the point, 
when it became possible for one of them to 
turn to Barrymore with the direct question : 

" Well, anyhow, ' Barry,' what is the differ- 
ence between a French farce and an American 
adaptation ? " 

" The same difference," was Barrymore 's 
swift reply, "that there is between Fifth 
Avenue and South Fifth Avenue." 

Any one familiar with New Y^ork will ap- 
preciate the aptness of the distinction. Some- 
how " Barry's " table companions had divined 
the point to which he wanted the talk led. If 
the lines had been written dialogue and care- 
fully rehearsed, the episode could not have 
gone off better. 

When " Barry " broke down mentally, and it 
[ 18^ ] 



S^ THEIR HOMES 



was found necessary to place him in an asylum, 
it was only through his friends in the club 
that he could be induced to go. A group of 




Reading Room of " The Lambs'' " 

them accompanied him, and with tears in their 
eyes turned from the door of the private re- 
treat whither, unknown to himself, they had 
with infinite tenderness conducted him. 
Perhaps the wittiest members at the present 
I 185 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



time are Wilton Lackaye, Willie Collier, and 
Henry E. Dixey. Lackaye's wit is subtle and 
satirical. One day, as he was going down- 
stairs, an actor whose specialty is female im- 
personations was coming up. Lackaye stepped 
to one side and removed his hat, and allowed 
the female impersonator to pass as if he were 
making way for a lady. 

A story illustrating Lackaye's wit is told on 
Joseph Jefferson. Lackaye at the time was a 
member of Jefferson's company, and one day 
he had a dispute with him on a question of 
expenses, which he thought should come out 
of Jefferson's pocket. The latter demurred, 
and finally Lackaye yielded the point. 

" That 's very nice of you, Lackaye," said 
Jefferson, " and to show my appreciation of 
your courtesy I 'd like to give you one of my 
landscapes." 

" I 'd be glad to accept one, Mr. Jefferson," 
replied Lackaye, " but only on one condition." 
[186] 



^ THEIR HOMES 



" What is that ? " queried Jefferson, rather 
surprised at the other's emphasis. 

" Water-mills are barred." 

The " old man " saw the point and smiled ; 
and Lackaye now is the possessor of what he 
calls a unique work of art, — a Jefferson land- 
scape without a water-mill. 

The other day Willie Collier came into the 
clubhouse. He was immaculately attired in 
a new gray walking suit. The first man who 
spied him was an actor who has been ** rest- 
ing" the entire season. 

" Ah ! " he exclaimed on seeing Collier, 
" here comes the matinee idol actor ! " 

" And how is the idle matinee actor ? " was 
Collier's quick retort. 

A rapid exchange of wit like that is the 
delight of the lay members. Herbert Spencer, 
I think, says it requires two people to establish 
happiness, the exhibitor and the spectator. 
At the Lambs' the professional element is the 
[ 187 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



exhibitor, the lay element the spectator. Be- 
tween them they establish happiness. Is there 
wonder that all members, professional and lay, 
love the club ? 

Recently it became necessary to raise $50,000 
for club purposes. It was decided to issue 
bonds. The actors in the club asked to have 
the first chance to subscribe. Reluctantly the 
lay members, who were equally anxious, con- 
sented to the arrangement, hoping, however, 
that part of the amount would remain to be 
taken up by them. But the actors simply 
fell over themselves in their eagerness to 
help the club which means so much to them ; 
and so far as subscribing to these bonds is 
concerned, the lay members were left out in 
the cold. 

This bond issue was toward the fund for 
a new clubhouse, the club being so flour- 
ishing that it has outgrown its present quar- 
ters, though the building was especially built 
[ 188 ] 



c^ THEIR HOMES 



for the club. Stamford AVhite, who is a 
Lamb, will prepare the plans for the new 
structure. 

The Lambs' Club, now so flourishing, is an 
offshoot of the some-time defunct Lambs' of 
London. Its beginnings were very modest. 
It had its inception mainly through members 
of the famous old Wallack stock company, 
when Wallack's Theatre was at the corner of 
Broadway and Thirteenth Street, just below 
Union Square. This old-time theatrical land- 
mark has disappeared, and a clothing store 
stands on the site ; but the Lambs' never was 
so prosperous as now. 

Some verses by Edward E. Kidder, the 
playwright, entitled " The Lambs," well ex- 
press the genius of the club : 

Oh, brilliant brotherhood of brains, 
Oh, club unique for wit and worth, 

Where Momus dwells and Genius reigns, 
In touch with all the best of earth, — 

[ 191 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



To those of us who love you. well 

Your qualities need not be told ; 
We know the many joys that dwell 

Within the fold ! 

Not ours alone to clink the glass^ 

Or welcome Pleasure in her rounds 
To hear the merry jests that pass, 

To fill the air with joyous sound ; 
A worthier purpose moves us on, 

A minor chord is in our glee, 
Our hearts are where our Lambs have gone 

On land and sea. 

A band of sympathetic love 

Unites as one " our happy few ; " 
Here can the victor share his joys, 

The vanquished find nepenthe, too ; 
A trinity shall aid our band 

To hold its power forevermore : 
The open heart — the open hand — 

The open door ! 

The Lambs' enjoys what probably is the 
unique distinction of having crossed the At- 
lantic and reproduced itself here, and moreover 
of having survived the parent club, which Mn 
[ 192 ] 



THEIR HOMES 



John Hare started in London in 1869. The 
first dinner was held in the Gayety restaurant, 
with Hare in the chair as first shepherd. Some 
ten years the Lambs of London browsed to- 
gether. Then they grew into old sheep. Some 
died, some married, with the result that the 
last dinner of the London Lambs was held in 
1879. The few survivors of the London Lambs 
now are honorary members of the New York 
flock, whose motto is " Floreant Agni ! " (May 
the Lambs Flourish !). 

The Lambs' of New York was started in a 
most informal way, about Christmas time, 
1874, by members of the Wallack's Theatre 
stock company, who then were playing in the 
first run of " The Shaughran." Proininent 
among them were Harry Montague and Harry 
Beckett. It was intended merely as a supper 
club. The name was adopted at the sugges- 
tion of Harry IVIontague, who mentioned hav- 
ing belonged to a club called the Lambs' in 
[ 19M 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



London. At this first meeting there were 
seven present. It was held in the blue room 
of the uptown Delmonico's, then at Four- 
teenth Street and Fifth Avenue. 

For several years the suppers continued to 
be held in various restaurants. After a while 
the membership had increased sufficiently to 
warrant the hiring of clubrooms. The club 
in 1877-78 occupied the second floor of the 
old Monument House, at No. 6 Union Square. 
In May, 1877, it was incorporated. Montague 
was Shepherd and Beckett the Boy ; and among 
the members I find, besides these, Lester 
Wallack, Dion Boucicault, Charles F. Cogh- 
lan, "Billy" Florence, E. M. Holland, John 
McCuUough, Eben Plympton, John T\ Ray- 
mond, E. A. Sothern, and a number of lay 
members. 

The first great grief of the club came with 
the death of Harry Montague in San Fran- 
cisco, in August, 1878. Those who were at 
[ 194 ] 




Photographed by Sarony 



Lester Wallack 



c^ THEIR HOMES 



his funeral in " The Little Church Around 
the Corner " never will forget the gathering 
of sobbing mourners. 

Lester Wallack succeeded as Shepherd, and 
was in turn succeeded by Beckett. This was 
in 1879, when the club removed to 19 East 
Sixteenth Street. Prompted by a laudable 
desire to economize, the entire cash assets of 
the club being only $80.40, Beckett insisted 
on himself carrying many of the articles be- 
longing to the Lambs' from the old quarters to 
the new. Finally his frequent trips aroused 
the suspicions of a policeman, who halted him, 
and on searching under his coat discovered 
various component parts of the club's billiard 
table, but finally was convinced of the come- 
dian's identity and innocent purpose. 

Arrived at the club, Beckett gravely in- 
formed his friends that he had had an en- 
counter with four policemen, but had taken 
down their numbers. Then he unveiled the 
[ 19T ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



component parts of the billiard table, which 
had been concealed about his person. 

The quarters in Sixteenth Street simply were 
rooms. In April, 1880, the club at last found 
itself under a roof controlled by itself alone. 
This was at No. 34 West Twenty-sixth Street. 
The event was celebrated by a supper and 
entertainment. Among the notables present 
who since have passed away were Lester Wal- 
lack, Harry Edwards, " Billy " Florence, Dion 
Boucicault, Charles A. Dana, John McCul- 
lough, and the elder Sothern. One of the 
guests was Gen. Horace Porter, now ambas- 
sador to France. By an error his name re- 
cently was included in an account of this 
entertainment as among those " who have 
since passed away." In a humorous apology 
for the mistake, issued by the club, it was sug- 
gested that the error recalled the bon mot of 
the late Tom Appleton, that " all good Ameri- 
cans, when they die, go to Paris." 
[ 198 1 



(% THEIR HOMES 



The idea of the present clubhouse in West 
Thirty-sixth Street was first broached by 
Thomas B. Clarke, Jr., one of the most pop- 






f 





" The, Lambs' ''"' Assemhly Room 

ular members of the club, — so popular that, 
although a non-professional member, he has 
been a Shepherd, the only member of his 
class, save the late Judge Brady, to have 
been thus honored. Besides being a shrewd 
[ 199 ] 



FAMOUS ACTOKS 



adviser and one of the " best fellows " imag- 
inable, Mr. Clarke has donated to the club 
some valuable art objects and a fine col- 
lection of more than three hundred drinking 
vessels, of all descriptions, and covering a 
period from the tenth century b. c. to the 
present time. 

A list of club members includes practically 
every noted actor and playwright of America. 
Once a month the club gives in its own little 
theatre a " gambol." This consists of per- 
formances of skits written by members of the 
club, and, of course, the performers also are 
club members. No outside talent is ever 
called upon or allowed to intrude itself; nor, 
with such a brilliant membership to draw 
upon, would this be necessary. The " all star 
gambol" in the spring of 1898, when in a 
week's tour a company of Lambs' gave an en- 
tertainment which left the club debt free, is 
well remembered. All other gambols, with 
[ ^00 ] 



THEIR HOMES 



the exception of an annual invitation affair, 
have been strictly club events. 

Every year also the Lambs' have their 
" washing," — an outing at the country place 
of some member. The club also owns a " pas- 
ture," the country seat of Charles H. Hoyt, 
which he bequeathed, together with a fund 
for its maintenance. Poor " Charlie " Hoyt 
was one of the friskiest Eambs' and in love 
with the club. 

Those who have held the office of Shepherd 
longest, Lester Wallack and Clay M. Greene, 
were in that position each for seven years. 
Mr. Greene has been in many ways a valu- 
able member of the club. Other Shepherds, 
besides those already mentioned, have been 
Florence, Edmund M. Holland, and De 
Wolf Hopper. ]\Ir. Greene again is the 
present Shepherd, and Thomas B. Clarke is 
the Boy. 

Since the incorporation of the Lambs' as a 
[ 201 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



club its doors never have been closed to its 
members. The first house rule in the Lambs' 
book is believed to be unique in clubdom. 
It reads : " The clubhouse of the Lambs' shall 
never close." 



202 ] 




THE PLAYEKS" 

>T would be difficult to point 
out tlie differences between the 
Lambs' and the Plavers' with- 
out quite unintentionally run- 
ning the risk of possibly hurting 
somebody's feelings. Perhaps the simplest 
method of differentiating them is to say that 
the Players' is purposely the more dignified of 
the two, while the Lambs', equally with pur- 
pose, is the " good time " club of the dramatic 
profession. I think I also can say with safety 
that in some ways the Lambs' means more 
and comes closer home to the actor than does 
the Players'. 

The latter is quite out of the theatrical dis- 
trict. Its handsome house is in an old-fash- 
[ 203 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



ioned neighborhood (and still an excellent 
one), No. 16 Gramercy Park. It is a fine 
New York mansion done over ; the grounds 
run back to the next street, as do also those 
of the house adjoining, where Samuel J. Tilden 
lived, so that there is an outlook on the park 
from the front and on a broad garden space 
from the rear, and the house was delivered 
to the club altered, decorated, furnished, and 
fully equipped by its founder, the late Edwin 
Booth, a much-loved name within its walls. 

Though founded by an actor, the club re- 
ceived its apt name at the suggestion of an 
author, Thomas Bailey Aldrich. It was in 
the summer of 1887 that on the " Oneida," the 
steam yacht of Grover Cleveland's friend, E. 
C. Benedict, there were Edwin Booth, Law- 
rence Barrett, Mr. Aldrich, Laurence Hutton, 
and William Bispham. Mr. Booth there for 
the first time intimated that he woidd like to 
found a club in memory of his father, Junius 
[ 204 J 




Photographed by Sarony 



Edv)in Booth 



THEIR HOMES 



Brutus Booth. In the course of the ensuing 
talk over the proposal, Mr. Aldrich suggested 
the felicitous name which the club now bears. 

Early the following year (January, 1888) 
Augustin Daly gave a breakfast at which the 
yacht party were present, and among others 
Samuel L. Clemens ("Mark Twain"), "Joe" 
Jefferson, John Drew, and Gen. William Te- 
cumseh Sherman. By the following month 
the club had been incorporated, among the 
incorporators being Edwin Booth, Lawrence 
Barrett, Augustin Daly, Joseph Jefferson, 
Harry Edwards, James Lewis, John Drew, 
Samuel L. Clemens, and General Sherman. 

The presence in this list of the names of 
Sherman and Clemens showed that, in spite 
of its name, the Players' was not to be 
limited to actors. Under the constitution 
eligibility to membership embraces any one 
who is " engaged in literature, painting, sculp- 
ture, architecture, or music, or who is a patron or 
[ 207 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



connoisseur of the arts." Thus amateurs and 
connoisseurs are included, despite the definition 
of an amateur as " a person who loves nothing " 
and of a connoisseur as a " person who knows 
nothing." 

At midnight on the last night of 1888, when 
bells, whistles, and horns were ushering in the 
new year, Edwin Booth, standing in front of 
the fireplace in the great hall on which a log 
crackled and blazed, presented in the simplest 
manner possible to the members of the club, 
by that time already grown to 100, a deed of 
gift to the house. From above the mantle, 
as he stood there, not as the actor, but as the 
simple, lovable man and loyal son, there looked 
down upon him the face of his father, Junius 
Brutus Booth, out of the canvas, by Sully. 

It sometimes has been said in criticism of 

the Players' that the mixed membership has 

resulted in swallowing up the actor element, 

and that the last person you meet at the 

[ 208 ] 



^ THEIR HOMES 



Players' is a player. But this is not so. The 
membership of the club was, at Mr. Booth's 
suggestion, based on the social interests of the 
actor in relation with kindred arts, and it can 




Photographed by Byron 
Second Floor Hall of " The Players' " 

be said for the club that it is run on a broader 
gauge than any other club of its kind in the 
world. 

But its policy toward the actor is more 
liberal than that of the Garrick of London, or 
[ 209 J 



FAMOUS ACTOKS 



of any of the other actors' clubs, save the 
Lambs'. Few of the younger actors can, for 
instance, gain admittance to the Garrick. But 
with the Players' the policy toward the pro- 
fession is most liberal. In the deed of gift 
]Mr. Booth stipulated that actor members of 
the club should be classed as non-residents, 
which, of course, greatly decreases their initia- 
tion fees and dues. JMoreover, the profession 
is well represented in the management of the 
club. John Drew is now the president, and 
Daniel Frohman, who knows the profession 
like a book, is chairman of the house com- 
mittee. In this way the actor's interests are 
fully subserved. 

It does not require many visits to the 
Players' for one to discover that, while Booth 
intended the club to be a memorial to his 
father, the affection in which his own mem- 
ory is held has defeated his object. Junius 
Brutus Booth is too remote to inspire in the 
[ aio ] 



c% THEIR HOMES 



members anything more than an interest as 
a historical personage. Edwin Booth, on the 
other hand, is a real memory to many members. 
JNIost of them must have seen him act ; many 
of them knew him personally and have come 
under the influence of the diffident yet kindly 
welcome of the greatest figure on the Ameri- 
can stage during the last century. Indeed, the 
highest achievements of the American stage 
are centred in his name. 

Moreover, the acts of founding the Players' 
and of presenting the house to the club were 
done in such a simple, wholly unostentatious 
way as to show the lovable simplicity of the 
man in his private relations. Furthermore, he 
had attained such dignity in his art that the 
club, while in no wise lacking in good fellow- 
ship, partakes in a large measure of his own 
dignity. 

Small wonder that of the two annual fes- 
tivals celebrated by the Players' one is " found- 
[ 211 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



er's night," held every New Year's Eve, when, 
on the stroke of twelve, the loving cup is passed 
around and silently drunk to the memory of 
Edwin Booth. On the last " founder's night " 
of the nineteenth century the following des- 
patch was received from Palm Beach, from 
the absent president of the club : — 

To My Brother- Players : I join with you in this, 
the departing hour of the old century, in keeping green 
the memory of our beloved founder, Edwin Booth, and 
I wish you all a happy new year. 

Joseph Jefferson. 

Edwin Booth lived at the Players'. As one 
of the club's tributes to his memory the room 
which he occupied, and in which he died, is 
kept just as it was. The monthly meetings of 
the Directors are held in it, as a matter of 
sentiment to symbolize that his still is the 
guiding spirit of the Players'. 

In the rear of this room is the one which 
was occupied by Lawrence Barrett. This is 
[ ^^1^ J 






I 



i^m 



Photographed by Sarony 



Joseph Jefferson 



^ THEIR HOMES 



now one of the rooms let to members for 
living purposes. It has been used by such 
distinguished members as Samuel L. Clemens, 
E. S. Willard, and Barrett's friend, William 
H. Crane. 

A short flight of steps from the entrance to 
the house brings one to the reading-room, from 
which twelve low steps lead to an alcove built 
over the entrance. Over the mantel in this 
alcove is Sargent's portrait of Edwin Booth. 
It fills the entire space from mantel to ceiling, 
and shows him, not as the actor, but as he 
stood when he presented the club with its 
abiding-place on that New Year's Eve so mem- 
orable in its annals. 

There are two other Sargent portraits in 
the club, — one of Jefferson as Dr. Pangloss 
and one of Barrett, and also Macready's por- 
trait by Washington Allston ; Bachel's by 
Gilbert Stuart's daughter, Garrick's by Sir 
Joshua Reynolds, the elder Sothern's by Frith, 
[ 2^5 1 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



and a portrait of John Gilbert, the first of the 
Players 'to die, by J. Alden Weir. 

In referring to the Lambs' I said that 
Maurice Barrymore had been one of the 
wits of that club, and that many of his 
brilliant sallies were remembered there. He 
also belonged to the Players', and at least 
one of his bon mots uttered there has been 
preserved. 

About the time the Players' was founded, the 
Booth- Barrett combination had been formed, 
and had raised the price of tickets to $3, — 
something quite remarkable for those days. 
Naturally, it was the subject of considerable 
conversation at the club. One of the canvases 
there is Collier's large portrait of Booth as 
Richelieu, his right arm raised and three 
fingers extended, as he invokes the curse of 
Rome upon the heads of Julie de Mortimer's 
enemies. 

" Hello ! " Barrymore exclaimed one day, as 
[ ^16 ] 




fls 



f§ 



ft^ 



^ THEIR HOMES 



he came face to face with this portrait, just 
after a discussion of the combination's poUcy, 
" there 's a picture of the 'old man ' raising the 
price to $3 ! " 

Between the reading-room and the grill- 
room is a hall with safes, which contain many 
dramatic relics. One of these is a sword used 
by Frederic Lemaitre. Here also is the crooked 
staff on which Charlotte Cushman leaned in 
her impersonation of Meg Merrilies. Fechter's 
" blond " wig, which he wore in " Hamlet," and 
which occasioned so much discussion, is also 
among the relics. It is amusing to note that 
while in the wordy warfare that raged about 
it, it always was referred to as " blond," it here 
is seen to be distinctly red. 

Here are a ring which belonged to David 
Garrick and a lock of Edmund Kean's hair; 
Edwin Forrest's spring dagger, the blade 
of which obligingly slid back into the hilt 
every time he killed himself; a salver and 
[ 219 ] 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



pitcher of silver presented in 1828 to Junius 
Brutus Booth, and the loving cup presented 
by Boston admirers to William Warren. 




Photographed by Byron 
Grill Room of " The Players' " 

The grill-room, with its oaken beams, high 
wainscot, framed playbills and portraits, runs 
the full width of the house, and is one of the 
most comfortable and homehke rooms of its 
kind in town. Outside is a broad piazza over- 
[ 220 ] 



(§ THEIR HOMES 



looking the spacious gardens of the Players' 
and of the old Tilden mansion next door. On 
this piazza the members take their meals al 
fresco in suitable weather. It is doubtful if 
any other club in the city has such a beautiful 
yet homelike outlook. 

There are various Shakespearian mottoes 
in different parts of the house. That in the 
grill-room reads : " Mouth it, as many of our 
players do." Booth himself made an apt para- 
phrase of Ben Jonson's lines from the First 
Folio, and they may be read under the marble 
mantel in the hall : — 

Good Frende For Friendship's Sake Forbeare 

To Utter What Is Gossipt Heare 
In Social Chatt Lest, Unawares, 

Thy Tonge Offends Thy Fellow Plaiers 

In the grill is a playbill of Garrick in " Ham- 
let " at Drury Lane in 1773. The King was 
played by " Mr. Jefferson," great-grandfather 
to our own " Joe " of gracious memory. 

It is a distinguishing feature of the Players' 



FAMOUS ACTORS 



that it owns what is the best dramatic hbrary 
in this country. Here are Booth's own books, 
constituting the working Hbrary of a great 
tragedian. Barrett's hbrary also belongs to 
the Players'. Together the Booth and the 
Barrett number about 39,000 volumes. John 
Gilbert's widow made the addition of that 
much-beloved player's library. 

There are more than 100 volumes of the 
older dramatists and a collection of over 
30,000 playbills. Above the shelves are death- 
masks of Garrick, Kean, Malibran, Goethe, 
and Devrient, and portraits, all of actors, save 
one of George Washington. But then he may 
be classified as our " leading man." 

Besides " Founder's Night," the only annual 
celebration of the club is " Ladies' Day." It is 
characteristic of the club's dignity that this is 
held on Shakespeare's birthday, April 23. 

THE END 



SEP 15 l.^o 



